


Free and Follow

by jewelianna88



Category: Popslash
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 53,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewelianna88/pseuds/jewelianna88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The slave AU that's not a slave AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Free

Part One: aufugio (escape)

Justin was trapped. He hovered in the dark corner of the shack and prayed to every god in the pantheon that the shadows would conceal him. He'd been so close to the river, only to be turned back by a bounty patrol earlier that day. The shack in the woods provided shelter from the bitterly cold rain and painful hail that had started to fall. Now, footsteps outside had sent him scrambling into the dark corner, curled into a tight ball.

The door opened, and a man entered. He was about Justin's height, but wore the fine clothes of the nobility. Justin tried to breathe through his mouth, because it was quieter. What was this man doing here? He didn't look like any bounty hunter that Justin had ever seen before.

The man took off his velvet cloak and hung it on a peg near the door. From the rickety desk under the window, he took several pieces of paper, an inkpot, and quill pen. Justin bit on his lip as he crouched in the shadows, wondering what the man was doing.

The nobleman sat down on the chair and dipped the pen into the ink. Justin watched as he began to write. The quill scratched over the paper with rasping noises, punctuated every so often by the man's soft voice as he spoke to himself.

"No, no. That's not right at all. It sounds like it was written by a schoolboy." The man crumpled up a piece of paper, tossing it over his shoulder. Justin tensed as it bounced close to his feet.

He squatted there for hours, it seemed, watching this man write. His legs began to shake from the strain. He could feel beads of sweat pooling on his forehead. A lifetime of heavy labor had made him strong, but no man could stay in that position for an infinite amount of time. He tried to quietly stretch his legs, but lost his balance. With a soft *thud*, he fell forward onto his hands and knees.

The man turned, sharply, eyes full of surprise at the intruder in his cabin.

Justin felt tears well behind his eyes. He couldn't be caught now, after weeks on the run. Not when he was so close. "Please, sir. Please. Don't call the patrol. I'll leave, I'm sorry I entered your property, but please sir, don't alert them. At least give me a head start." Shaking with fear, Justin begged. He rose to his feet. His legs were pricked by millions of pins and needles, and were slow to respond when he tried to move. He stumbled on his first step.

He would have fallen, but the man reached out and caught his elbow, easing him down onto the cot that sat against the wall. The man didn't say a word, but looked out the window carefully. Satisfied that no one was there, he sat down on the chair once again. Justin trembled on the bed.

"Who are you?" the man asked. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs.

Justin was hesitant to respond, but something in the stranger's eyes told Justin that he could trust this man. "Justin," he said. "I need to get to the river."

The man's eyes widened. Everyone knew the river divided the lands where slavery was allowed from those where it wasn't. "You're running away?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet. Justin was drawn to him, and it took him a moment to realize why. No one had spoken to him kindly in his entire life. He nodded in response.

The stranger chewed on his lip and rubbed his neck as he thought. "This is my space. I come here, to write, when I am uninspired in town. I didn't expect to have company."

"I'll go," Justin said meekly. "It's almost dark, if I can wait until the sun sets, it will be safer." He hoped the man would let him stay, at least that long.

"What will you do, when you get there?" the man asked. Justin shrugged. He hadn't thought about that. He just knew that on the other side of the river, he would be free.

The man stared at Justin. "The patrols have increased because of a revolt to the east. They're watching at night now. There are torches all along the river."

Justin felt his heart sink into his stomach. He'd put all his hopes on getting across that river. He knew how dangerous it was to hide away in the woods in the kingdom. He'd be caught before the week was over.

"I could..." The man paused. "If you want, you can stay here with me tonight. Then I'll take you over tomorrow. If you ride in my coach, you won't be disturbed." The man smiled at him. "I am Joshua, by the way, of the house of Chasez. JC. My lands are on the other side of the river."

Justin was struck, dumbfounded. He did not know if this was an extraordinary stroke of luck or a trick. "How can I trust you?" he asked, warily.

"I give you my word," JC replied. "I have nothing else to offer." He moved across the room to sit on the bed next to Justin. Justin stilled as JC touched his thigh. "Come. Sleep here, with me. Tomorrow I will take you to safety."

Justin had no other choice. He took his place next to the wall, pinching his eyes shut as JC slid into the bed beside him. Justin reached down between them and fumbled for JC's belt. A strong hand gripped his wrist, stilling his motion.

"I..." Justin did not know what was wrong. "I thought, I mean. I am but a servant to your needs." It pained him to say it, but he knew what was expected of slaves. He'd been doing it since he was only a boy. Just because this man was from the other side of the river did not mean he did not know the role of a slave in his master's bed.

"Justin," JC said, his voice calm. "I promise you this. I would love to have you as a servant to my needs, and I willingly will make myself a servant to yours. But later. When I know you are coming to me with a free will. For now, just sleep."

Justin blinked in disbelief. Was that even possible? When he felt a strong arm wrap around him, and he tensed at first. The words JC had said echoed in his head. A free man. His heart swelled with affection for this nobleman, and he fell into a deep sleep, feeling more safe and secure than ever before.

**

Justin pressed himself back against the wall of the coach, holding his breath. They were stopped at the toll gate across the river. Across from him, JC smiled gently and reached to him. He rested a hand on Justin's knee and squeezed reassuringly.

"Relax," he said. "Everything's going to be OK."

A knock echoed on the door, and JC turned the handle. Sunlight flooded in through the opening.

"Good day, sir." The guard was cordial to JC, recognizing his noble rank. "I just need to check your carriage, sir, before you continue."

"By all means," JC said. "As you can see, it is just me and my manservant here." Justin bit at his lip and tried not to shake. JC had provided him with clean clothes and new boots, dressing Justin as a paid servant rather than a slave. Justin knew the fabric was still far inferior to the grand cloaks that JC wore, but it was still the finest thing he had ever owned. He froze as the guard's eyes raked across him, darting back and forth from him to JC.

"I don't remember you having a manservant before, sir." The guard obviously knew JC. Justin thought that JC might pass this way often, to use his writing shack. Of course the guard would know him. He was going to be caught, now, dragged from the carriage, and beaten not only for running away but also for dressing above his station and maybe even seducing a nobleman. He could be hanged, or worse, beaten to the cusp of death then sent back to work.

"He's new," JC replied, his calmness baffling Justin. "I have only just hired him this week. He's still very much in training, but he's doing well." JC smiled at Justin, and winked at him. Justin's mouth fell open a little at how easily JC lied to the guard. He wasn't even nervous at all.

"You have his papers, then?" the guard asked, and JC turned his attention back to the open door. He passed a small booklet of paper to the guard, who glanced at it briefly before handing it back. "Very good, sir. I'll be seeing you again soon, then. Mr. Timberlake," he nodded to Justin, then closed the door.

The horses began to move again, and Justin swayed with the rocking of the carriage. He peeked through the curtains to see the river below them as the carriage took them across the river.

When they got to the other side, JC ordered them to stop. Justin was confused as JC climbed out the door and urged him to follow.

Justin jumped down to the ground and stood. "What?" he asked, looking around. Perhaps they had to go through a check-point here too, he thought nervously, though he had much greater faith in JC's abilities now than he had earlier that morning.

"Walk, Justin." JC was smiling hugely, his whole face lit up with his grin. "Take your first steps as a free man."

Justin gasped, the reality of it finally sinking in. He took one tentative step, then stretched his arms wide and spun in a circle. A giddy laugh escaped his mouth, loud and bubbly. With a shout, he took his first steps as a free man. He jumped, and he ran.

Straight into JC's arms.

**

JC's house was grand. Not as massive as the one where Justin had worked before, but much nicer looking. The stones were not covered in moss or ivy, and the glass on the windows shone in the sunshine. The coach pulled up at the gate, and JC waiting, smiling at Justin, for the driver to open the door for him.

Justin climbed out after JC, staring all around him. He still couldn't believe that he was free. He yearned to check over his shoulder to see if he had been followed, but resisted, thinking it might make JC think he was nervous. He did not want to offend JC, who had been so generous to him.

"I can never repay you," Justin said, turning to the man who had brought him to freedom. "All of my life, I owe it to you."

"Justin," JC said warmly, resting one hand over Justin's shoulders. He curled his fingers, massaging the tension that coiled there. "You do not need to. You owe me nothing."

Justin bowed his head in silence, gratitude overwhelming him.

"What will you do now?" JC asked, tucking a finger under Justin's chin. He raised Justin's head until they were looking into each others' eyes.

"I will find work, I suppose." Justin had many skills, both inside and outside of the bedroom. He had no doubt that he could find someone to hire him, either as a household servant or a handyman. Perhaps he could even find work as an entertainer, for he had been trained to perform for large galas on the old manor.

"If you would like, you may stay here, for a few days." JC swept his arm wide, as if showing off the expanse of his estate.

"You have been too kind already," Justin said, stepping away.

"Please," JC said. "At least until you find some work." He smiled at Justin, a quirky grin that made Justin smile too. "Truly, I would welcome your company."

Justin could not refuse. "If you insist," he said. He turned, looking for the gate that would lead him around the back of the house to the servant quarters, but JC hooked him by the arm and led him back. With shock and awe, Justin crossed the threshold through the front door, into JC's world.

**

Justin paused in the foyer and breathed, just to take it all in. The walls were paneled in a deep wood, something he'd never seen before. On them hung giant tapestries, rich in color and shot through with golden threads. Each one had a different scene of the gods, from the sacrifice on a mountaintop to the festival of light. They were beautiful, and Justin's fingers itched to trace the fine weaving and stitchery.

The floor was covered with leather rugs, massive hides that softened his steps on the hard stones. There were torches on the walls, not lit now, but he imagined that they would glow warmly once night had fallen. At the rear of the room were two archways, one leading to either side. There was also a staircase tucked into the wall, curving upwards out of site to the rooms on the second floor.

Justin took it all slowly, absorbing the smells of leather and lamp oil that lingered there. JC had walked across the room, and he paused when he saw that Justin did not follow.

"Are you coming?" he asked, one foot already on the stairs. Justin snapped from his reverie, embarrassed at his gawking. He had first thought that this house was much less impressive than the manor where he was from, but he was wrong. It was so much more.

Scampering to return to JC's side, Justin followed silently up the winding stairs. They curved tightly, barely wide enough for him to pass. Candelabra were fixated on the walls as they went up, and a tiny window near the top sent a beam of sunlight dancing down the steps. Justin felt its warmth as he crossed and smiled to himself. Even the sun was warmer here, he thought.

At the top of the stairs, JC opened a door that led into a long hallway. The smell here was the same as downstairs, but with a hint of the same sandalwood scent that lingered in JC's hair when they'd slept together the night before.

"These- these are your quarters," Justin asked, confused. He hoped that JC was not now expecting payment for his services. It would break his heart to climb into JC's bed now, in this way.

"To the left," JC said, pointing down the hall to where a massive door was propped open slightly. "On this side of the house are the guest quarters." He placed a hand in the small of Justin's back and led him to the right, through another large door. Justin gaped when he saw the room. Pristine white linens made up the bed, with a deep burgundy throw folded at the foot. There was a chest of drawers with a washing bowl and pitcher atop it against the near wall, and a reclining chaise set by the window in the same color as the blanket.

"This is--" Justin turned to JC, knowing his mouth was hanging open. "I will be fine, in the servant quarters," he said. "This room is too much for me."

"Justin," JC said with a smile, "You are not my servant, nor will I treat you like one. While you are here, you are my guest."

Justin couldn't comprehend why JC was being so kind to him. He ran a hand over the bed, feeling the smooth fabric under his skin. The calluses of his fingers caught on the threads, so he lifted his hand, tucking it back by his side. "Last night, it was the first time that I had ever slept in a real bed," he admitted, ashamed to meet JC's eyes. "I have only slept on straw before, a mattress of it laid upon the ground." When he looked up, his eyes were watery. He could not stop the tears from falling, though he was not sad nor in pain. "I have never had anything in my life and now you are offering me all of this. I don't know what to do with it," he said tearfully.

"Accept it," JC said quietly. "I do not know you, Justin, but my heart melts for you and your life. I only want to make things better for you. Please, let me help you."

A man who had spent his whole life in the dirt had little pride to hinder such an offer. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Thanks are not necessary," he said. "Just be happy, Justin. Perhaps sometime you could tell me of your life, and I will tell you of mine. I have not had company here for a long time, and it is good to have someone to share a meal with."

At the thought of food, Justin's stomach began to rumble. JC eyed him suspiciously. "When was the last time you've eaten?" he asked. They'd shared a bit of bread for breakfast, but had no eggs or ham to cook.

When Justin had to think before answering, JC wrapped and arm around his bony shoulders. "Come," he said, "and we shall find some dinner. Then I will show you the rest of the house, and the land. Have you ever been to a vineyard before?"

Justin shook his head and allowed JC to lead him out of the room. He looked back over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold, just to make sure he hadn't imagined the whole thing.

**

It was almost becoming comical, how Justin's eyes kept growing wider and wider as the day progressed. Ever time he thought that nothing could surpass what he had already seen, something new came along that turned his world view around once again.

Lunch was a banquet fit for a king. Justin watched as plates of food were brought onto the veranda, where he and JC sat at a massive plank table. Baskets of rolls and grapes were set before them, with bowls of olive oil for dipping. There was meat, too, and wedges of cheese. Beans and asparagus were served in steaming crockery. The smells made Justin's mouth water.

He waited until JC served himself before taking a small loaf of bread and tiny cluster of grapes onto his plate. He ate slowly, eyes wandering to the view around him. Row after row of grapevines grew in the fields, until the hills rose in the distance. There were people working there, but they were not slaves- they wore clothes much like the ones JC had given him that morning. The only similarity to the unfree workers Justin had dwelled with was the fact that they did not wear shoes. He wanted to ask JC about that, but did not want to be bold.

JC was watching him, he realized, when his eyes returned to the table.

"Is that all you're going to have?" he asked. His own plate was much fuller than Justin's meager portions.

"This is enough. I am not used to large meals." Justin popped another grape into his mouth and grinned. "The fruit is delicious."

"It should be, it is grown here. But wait until you try our wine." He signaled for one of his staff to bring forth a jug, filling both of their cups. When Justin sipped it, he was surprised at the sour-bitter taste. Under it, though, were the flavors of fruit and oak. The second taste was better, and the third danced upon his tongue.

"It's wonderful," he said. "I've never had wine before."

"You'll have plenty of it here," JC replied. "My grandfather founded this vineyard, in the time when the Goths abandoned the region. I am the third person to run it." There was pride in his voice, something Justin was beginning to recognize.

"It's a beautiful country," he said, again admiring the sweeping vista.

"Tell me where you are from," JC asked. When Justin did not reply immediately, he added "I do not wish to bring up bad memories, only to know you, so that I may help protect you."

"I do not know where I am from, originally," Justin replied. He stared at the clouds in the sky as he told the tale in an absent voice. "My first memories are of the wagon. There were about 20 of us, boys my age. I was maybe seven or eight years old. We were being taken to a trainer, to be prepared for work and sold. I know that my people were taken over by invaders. It's funny," he said wryly, "I do not remember my home or my family, but I remember that wagon. It's as if I did not exist before I was a slave. We were taken into Espana, and trained there until I was ten. Then I went to live on the manor. I had been there for ten years, half of my life, when I decided to escape. I'd had enough of serving my master in the fields and in bed. He was as cruel man, fat and lazy, determined to make money on the sweat and blood of his slaves."

"It took me nearly a year to come up with a plan. My owner did a lot of trading with other manors in the area. I managed to get away from his farm by strapping myself to the underside of a trading caravan. When they stopped for the night, I released myself and ran. After that, I walked in the direction of the rising sun, trying to find the river that flowed south to north. I was told that if I found that river and crossed it, I would be in a land that was free. I was almost there when you found me," he said.

JC was watching him with wide blue eyes when Justin looked back across the table. "You are braver than I had imagined, Justin. You've never had a family, or anyone to care for you?"

Sadly, Justin shook his head. "For as long as I can remember, I've relied on no one but myself."

He was surprised when JC reached across the table and took his hand. "I hope that you can rely on me," he said simply. His hand was warm on Justin's palm. Ink stained his nails, and his fingers were smooth compared to Justin's blisters and calluses.

Justin couldn't reply to JC's kindness. He honestly didn't know if he could rely on anyone but himself, not after so many years of having no one. But he trusted JC, which was more than he'd ever expected of anyone else, so that was a start.

Justin would have loved to see the rest of the house after lunch, but fatigue dragged on his bones. JC sent him to bed when his eyes began to droop at the table, and Justin wearily climbed the stone steps back to the beautiful room that would be his own, at least for the next few days. He wished he could savor every moment, but he was just too tired.

He'd been on the run for just over four weeks, hardly sleeping more than a few hours each night. He'd kept to the woods, mostly, darting between clusters of trees across the land. He'd climbed mountains, some of them large enough to be topped with snow even though it was the middle of the summer. Through it all, he'd never felt the exhaustion set in like it did now, drawing him into sleep the minute his head hit the pillow.

He dreamed of so many things, a jumble of images that raced into his mind. One minute he was back in the field, pulling beans from their stalks. The sun was so hot; it was bearing down on him, urging him to fall to the ground under its oppressing weight. Justin couldn't give in, though, for the minute his knees touched the dirt, someone would be by with the whip to force him to his feet again. There was no rest for the unfree. He dreamed that he was there with Trace, one of the other slaves. They'd sing songs together, sometimes, which made the work a little more bearable. Then the field faded away into a vineyard, and the sun cooled to a warm glow that kissed his skin rather than scorching it. The beans became grapevines. His clothes had morphed into the fine garments he'd been given that morning, and JC was at his side instead of Trace, singing to him a song that was so familiar, yet he could not recall ever hearing it before.

As he slept, all of these images washed over his mind, tossing him from nightmare to pleasant dream and back again.

When he woke, the sun was long set and crickets chirped outside of his window. There was a tray of food sitting on the chest, with a note. He could not read it, but picked at the food that had been left, then crawled back under the covers and slept some more, this time so soundly that dreams could not haunt him.

Part Two: vinetum (the vineyard)

Justin awoke to the sounds of birds- roosters in the yard and larks in the trees. He stretched in the bed, enjoying the luxuriousness of his surroundings, wondering what god had smiled upon him to send such blessings his way. When he rose, he found clean clothes sitting on the trunk at the foot of the bed where he had left his garments the night before. Pulling them on, he enjoyed the way the linen caressed his skin, a vast improvement from the scratchy wool that had always chafed before.

Downstairs, the house was a bustle of activity. He stood in the grand foyer and watched the servants scurrying around him, carrying everything from reams of paper to plates of food.

"Master Justin," one of the women commanded stopping in front of him with a smile. He vaguely recognized her as one of the servers from his lunch the day before. "We were wondering when you would rise this morning. Master Chasez is on the veranda enjoying breakfast. You should join him."

Justin fell into step behind her, following her through the door to the patio. Outside, fog hung over the fields. It was as if they were living in a cloud.

JC turned to him as he approached, smiling and standing halfway while Justin took his seat. Such manners surprised Justin, but he didn't comment on it. He was already beginning to see just how poor and uncultured his ways were. It was better, he thought, not to call attention to it.

His stomach growled with anticipation as he eyed the platters of eggs and ham.

"You'd better eat more than a light meal today," JC said, shoveling food onto his plate. "You're going to need your energy."

Justin didn't need the encouragement and ate heartedly. He was planning on setting out for town soon, to search for work. They'd ridden through a tiny hamlet on their way to JC's vineyard the day before. Already, it seemed so long ago. Nothing special had happened for ten years, and the past 24 hours made up for that, with room to spare.

After lunch, JC invited him to the stables.

"Do you know how to ride?" JC asked. Justin nodded. He'd had to ride horses many times on the manor farm, though those animals had been old and tired beasts. JC's horses were fine, with shining coats and braided manes.

They rode through the vineyard, JC pointing out the different kinds of grapes that would make white or red wine. Justin asked questions occasionally, surprising JC with the interest he took in the workings of the vineyard.

They crossed a small creek at the end of the orchard and moved into the hills. There were worn trails through the forest, leading them to a tiny shack, much like the one where JC had found Justin on the other side of the river.

"Do you have these places everywhere?" Justin asked, as JC opened the door and ushered him inside. The decor here was much finer than in the other hut. A wide bed stretched beneath the windows. A sturdy desk with drawers and shelves rested against the far wall.

"I have a few," JC commented. "I am a vintner by trait, and a poet by heart. I need to escape to write. I cannot do it at the main house because there are too many distractions." He sat on the bed, pulling a small book from the folds of his cloak. "Would you like to read one?" he asked shyly.

Justin could think of nothing he'd like more than to get a glimpse into the soul of his mysterious savior. "I would, but I cannot read," he said regretfully. The letters on the page were as mysterious to him as the stars in the sky.

JC smiled. "I could read one for you," he said. "But one better than mine." He withdrew another book from the desk, thicker than the one he carried. Justin perched eagerly on the bed beside him, watching over his shoulder as JC read the words.

"Who wrote that?" Justin asked, awed at how beautiful it sounded.

"Virgil," JC said. "He lived hundreds of years ago, in Rome."

"Hundreds of years?" Justin had never imagined that there were people around so long ago, but JC was nodding so it must have been so. "And his books are still ready, today?"

"They are. Not too much, because there are laws in some places forbidding them, but here and there, you can still find his stories."

It was fascinating. "Can you imagine creating something that people would think of after hundreds of years? That people who aren't even alive now would know your name?"

JC laughed. "Does this mean you plan to make a mark on history, Justin Timberlake?"

Justin cocked his head, curiously. "Why did you give me that name?"

"It is the name of my home, on that side of the river. Timber Lake is where I found you," he said.

"I like it," Justin said, with a smile. It suited him. He'd never imagined that he'd have a name before, something to give by way of introduction. It was one more gift that he'd gotten from JC.

"Would you like to learn to read?" JC asked him. There was sunlight coming him through the window, catching the golden highlights in JC's hair. Justin ran a hand over his own shaved head, feeling the fuzz that had begun to grow since his escape. He wished it would grow faster, for he was eager to shed his last visible sign of slavery.

"I do not know if I can learn," he said in reply. "But I would like to try. If I have time," he added hastily. "I need to find work."

"We shall find time." JC rested his palm on Justin's knee; the book folded in his other hand. "I do not know what led me to find you, Justin, but I can't help but feel that it was destiny. There's something about you that intrigues me, beyond any measure of my comprehension."

Justin's eyes welled at the words. He knew what JC meant, had thought the same ever since they'd met, but had not been able to phrase it so eloquently. He boldly shifted closer on the bed, leaning one hand behind JC's body.

When their lips met in a kiss, Justin thought that his heart would burst right out of his body. It was all he could do to keep from shouting out right there, but the taste of JC kept his mouth occupied. It was warm and wet, and everything that he could have dreamed a kiss would be. It was the first time he'd ever kissed someone out of want, out of need, out of his own free will. It was perfect.

When JC pulled back, Justin breathed deeply. He watched the flush creep into JC's cheeks, the sunlight making him glow. His eyes sparkled.

"We should get back for afternoon chores," JC breathed. He rose, taking Justin's hand in his own to pull Justin to his feet.

"Kissing you." JC said, after they mounted their horses. "I think you may be enchanted, Justin. Because you've put a spell over me."

He kicked at his horse and rode off in a gallop. Justin was frozen with glee for only a moment before hurrying off in chase.

The next few days passed in much the same way. JC spent the mornings showing Justin around his vast lands and the workings of his vineyard. They'd have a quick lunch together, then spend the afternoons working on chores. In the evenings, they sat on the veranda and watched the sun drop below the horizon. JC would sometimes end the night by reading stories to Justin by the fireplace in the great room, or showing him how to swirl wine to bring out its rich flavors. They were apart from the moment they woke until the moment they returned to their beds at either end of the second floor hallway.

When the time came that they were to be separated, Justin's heart clenched and his breath caught in his throat. As JC spoke of the business he needed to attend to in a few neighboring towns, Justin worried at his lower lip, hands fisted at his side. He was wrought between twin infections of fear and loneliness that raged in his body. It was only JC's quiet kisses and promises that he would return safely that calmed him. He watched JC leave with the morning light, waving as the coach pulled down the lane.

Without JC to entertain him and occupy his time, Justin became friendly with the servants on JC's manor. The one overwhelming trait they had was a great respect for JC. Justin listened for hours as they spoke of his generosity and intelligence. Those were things that Justin already knew, but to have his own opinions reinforced by so many people brought about even higher levels of respect for the man who had saved him. He also began to focus on finding some kind of skill that he could use once he left JC's manor. He hated the thought of leaving but knew that no one would put up with a free boarder, no matter how many kisses he was given. It would be just like being a slave again, Justin realized, to have to depend on someone else for his entire well being. Justin wanted to make his own way in life. It was part of the reason he had run.

He helped the farm hands with their chores, feeding chickens and milking cows. How much more pleasant the tasks were, he realized, when he knew that he would be drinking the milk or eating the eggs that the animals provided. He shoveled manure around the bases of the grapevines, and dug into the soil to let the air in. There was no vineyard on the old manor farm, but he knew about plants and his knowledge was well received by the other workers. It was delightful to feel like he was contributing. In his spare time, he wandered into some of the outbuildings on the property, playing around with the scrap wood that was available to him there.

After four days, Justin awoke to the sounds of hoof beats outside of his window. He rushed to see, then tugged on his clothes to meet the coach as it pulled up to the door.

JC was out of the carriage before the driver even dismounted to open the door for him. He looked tired, and his clothes were rumpled from the journey, but a smile was planted firmly on his face. He laughed as Justin embraced him on the stoop.

"I was afraid I would return and find that you were gone, that you had only been a figment of my imagination this past week." JC held Justin tightly, as if Justin would try to escape. What foolishness. Justin leaned further into his arms.

"I assure you, I am as real as you, and very glad to have you back." He almost said "glad to have you home" but held back. He did not want to think of JC's vineyard as his home. If his life experiences had been any indication, he knew that all good things must, at some time, come to an end.

"Come," JC said, "I am famished. We rode through the night, rather than staying for another day. I was eager to get home." He smiled at Justin, and brushed a finger over Justin's nose. "I have grown used to having a companion."

Over breakfast of griddlecakes and bacon, Justin told him of his days on the farm. After his grand adventures during the past month, the days were tame, but so much preferred to the action and excitement he'd been through. JC smiled as Justin talked about helping with the daily routine on the farm.

"I'm pleased that you are settling in around here," he said when Justin was finished with his summary. "I hope that means you will stay here, for a while."

Justin didn't answer him right away, unsure of how to go about explaining what he was feeling to JC. He'd wait until another time. There was always tomorrow.

"I have something to show you," Justin said when they were through with the meal. He led JC down to the outer barn.

"What is it?" JC asked. It looked like no xylophone that he had seen before. It was tall enough to play while standing, with keys made of wood instead of metal. "It's beautiful."

"A marimba," Justin said. He picked up a pair of wooden mallets and played a few notes. They echoed in the barn, music resounding off of the rafters. When JC smiled, Justin picked up two more mallets and began to play with two in each hand.

"But where did it come from?" JC asked, running a hand over the lowest note. He tapped on it with his knuckle, sending a low tone through the air.

"I made it," Justin replied. He gave JC one of the mallets and let him try playing. "There was a slave on the plantation who taught me how. He was a Carthaginian, and had learned how from another African many years ago." Justin laughed as JC hit a sour note. "Don't play two keys next to each other at the same time," he said. "Leave one empty in between."

When JC tried again, it was more pleasant. "Justin, I can not believe that you built this-- and in just four days!"

When Justin tried to shrug off the compliment, JC grasped his shoulders. "No. This is a real talent."

"I only made it for you," Justin said. "I thought you might like it, and I... It's not much of a repayment, not really, but it's the only thing I have to give."

"No," JC said, his voice hushed and serious. "It's not the only thing." He leaned forward until his forehead touched against Justin's. Justin felt JC's hair tickling his stubbly scalp. It was soft, better than any linen pillowcase.

"You've given me so much," JC said. "My pages are full, now, for the first time I can remember. I have been writing the whole time I have been gone. You inspire me. You chase away the loneliness I felt before I met you. Most of all, you make me feel again. I thought I was numb for a long time. You've ended that."

Justin knew that JC's parents had died of epidemic last year, leaving him to run the vineyard alone. His sister was married with her own family, his brother a soldier in the army and probably dead as well. It was tragic, but Justin hadn't realized how much it had affected JC.

"I am just a poor man," Justin said. "Worse, a slave. I can't be these things."

"You're more," JC promised. "You're not a slave. You're Justin of Timberlake now. And you're my friend." He kissed him, soulfully, with open lips and a quick moving tongue. Justin let him in, welcomed him, and returned the affection. There was a soft clatter as the mallets fell into the dirt, and JC's hands slipped onto the skin of Justin's back.

Alive, he thought, as JC kissed him again. I finally have a reason for being alive. It was the best feeling in the world.

Part Three: amicitia (friendship)

The days passed, and Justin grew more and more used to his life as a free man. His skin lost some of its golden luster as the summer turned to fall and he was no longer spending his days outside. His hair continued to grow, coming in straw-colored curls. JC loved to tug on them as he read to Justin, mussing their tight corkscrews then smoothing them again as Justin closed his eyes and listened to the stories. He loved the tales of Odysseus and Troy, hearing of the adventures.

JC did not press him to talk about his life, but gradually Justin began to tell more of the details of his life on the manor farm and his escape. Tears glistened in JC's eyes as Justin told him the story of the scars that criss-crossed his back, punishments for trying to take extra food for a sick slave who could not walk to the dinner line.

JC had pressed a hand to Justin's heart, as if drawing the beats from him. "You're such a good man," he said. "I don't know how you survived all of that."

Justin didn't know either, but he had a feeling that he had survived so that he could be here now, with JC.

As the harvest began, JC had an old friend who came to help him with the wine-making. The man's name was Joseph, and he rode the largest horse Justin had ever seen. JC called him Joey, and hugged him like a brother.

"This is Justin," he said as introduction when they first met on the front stoop. "He's staying with me now." There was no indication that this was a temporary status. Justin had begun to understand that this was to be a long-term arrangement, something he could accept more willingly after a month in JC's company. He had not given up his dreams of finding work, but he was more willing to stay now as he recognized the safety and comfort JC so willingly gave.

"Hello, Justin." Joey had a warm smile and kind dark eyes. Justin liked him immediately, overruling his usual wariness of strangers. He trusted JC's judge of character, even though he caught Joey eying him curiously throughout the first few days of his stay.

The first thing they did was head to the vineyard, where JC and Joey examined all of the grapes and plants, row after row. Justin followed. He was reluctant to kiss JC with Joey around, but JC showed no hesitation in wrapping Justin in his arms as they walked the aisles of vines, now heavy with fruit. He and Joey spoke of past adventures together, swapping tales of friends they'd known in lessons and family members. Joey was from the north but had settled in the region as a young man, because the climate better suited his mother's health. Now, he worked odd jobs, traveling around the countryside.

"Have you heard anything? About Tyler?" JC asked anxiously. He gripped Justin's hand, waiting for news. Sadly, though, Joey only shook his head.

"They say the battles have moved closer to Rome," he said, "but I have not heard word on the troops from our area." He squeezed JC's shoulder on the other side. "Have faith," he said, and JC nodded sadly.

They had a grand feast that night. JC opened his best jugs of wine, pouring it freely into the glasses. Justin’s head began to swim and he laughed openly at Joey’s raucous jokes about women he’d encountered. JC’s cheeks were flushed pink from the alcohol, and he giggled helplessly alongside of Justin as Joey spun tales of his travels.

“You’re exaggerating,” JC said finally, when he’d recovered his breath. “But I’ll let it slide for I’m so glad to see you.”

After dinner, JC tugged on Justin's sleeve, pulling him into the pantry. The spices stored there tickled his nose, and everything was coated with a fine dusting of flour that had escaped from the large sacks on the floor. Justin scratched at his head and waited for JC to speak. Clearly, he had wanted privacy.

JC shifted from foot to foot, obviously nervous.

"What's wrong?" Justin asked. His stomach filled with dread. Perhaps since Joey had arrived, JC no longer had use for a young companion. He feared the worst, that he would be turned away. It was not so much leaving the vineyard that made his heart ache, but the idea that he would no longer be able to see JC. He prayed to the gods for JC to have mercy and let him stay.

"I only have one guest bedroom," JC said, "and two guests."

"Oh." Justin chewed on his lip. "I can sleep in the stable," he offered. He'd had worse quarters before.

"No," JC said, still holding onto Justin's arm with a warm hand. "I mean, if you want to, you may, but I thought that you might share my bed. For sleeping," he added hastily. Justin watched as he smiled nervously. "Just sleeping."

Justin exhaled slowly. He remembered their first night together, sharing that tiny cot in the woods-- the feeling of JC's body pressed against his, his own embarrassment, and relief, when JC had turned down his advances. Another night beside JC made Justin's heart pound a little faster. They had done nothing more than kiss in all the weeks since, giving time for Justin to get used to satisfying his own needs first before submitting to the will of others. It was a hard lesson, at times.

"OK," he agreed finally, looking on as JC's smile grew more confident, more true. "I'd like that."

"Me too," JC replied. He kissed Justin lightly, tasting of wine. Justin smiled under the touch of his lips.

They spent the nighttime hours by the fire, JC and Joey talking more, catching up on the events of their lives over the past year. Justin listened with drooping eyelids. Eventually, he retired, long before JC and Joey were ready for sleep. Bidding them goodnight, he climbed the stairs to the second floor, turning left instead of right at the top.

If his room was luxurious, JC's was fit for royalty. His bed was shrouded with creamy velvet drapes, high wooden posts carved in the most intricate design. There were mounds of feathered pillows and a down throw that looked warm. Through windows Justin could see the stars as they glittered down on the vineyard. The bed was easily twice the size of the guest room's, and much higher off of the ground. When Justin climbed up onto it, he almost moaned in ecstasy to have such a soft sleeping surface.

He fell asleep almost immediately. Unfortunately, even new surrounds couldn't keep away the nightmares that had plagued him since his escape. The face of the old master and slave trainers danced in his mind until he awoke shaking with fear. It happened a few nights every week. Night was the only time when he couldn’t ignore the residual feelings from his ten years as a slave. No matter how happy his days, the dreams would haunt him at night.

There was no water in JC's room, so Justin ventured downstairs with the pitcher, longing for a cool drink. He paused passing the living room, where the fire still raged against autumn's creeping chills. JC and Joey sat on either side of it, drinking cups of wine.

"--- don't know anything about him," Justin heard Joey say. Justin pressed himself against the foyer wall just out of sight. He knew it was not right to listen, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to hear JC’s response.

"I know that he's had a miserable life, and that he had the courage to escape it. I know that he's smart, and kind, and so gentle it would break your heart." JC's voice was warm when it reached Justin's heart.

"JC, I know you have a big heart, but sometimes you have no sense. What makes you so sure that he's not a convict or a criminal? You said yourself he was hiding in the woods when you found him."

Justin heard JC sigh. "I did some checking. A slave matching his description is being hunted for in the south, through most of Espana. I sent a few chasing into Basque, a few others to the coast.”

Justin’s breath caught. He’d thought that they would have forgotten about him by now. He remembered JC’s business trip from weeks earlier. Was this the reason he had to go away? Was he really checking on Justin’s story? The idea hurt, but at the same time, it comforted him to think that JC may have taken steps to ensure that rogue bounty hunters didn’t break laws and come for him in the free land.

“Joey, I swear to you, he is not lying,” JC continued. “There's just something about him-- I don't know what it is. He makes me happy, Joey. He doesn't do anything at all, but just him being here makes me happy."

Justin grinned to himself, pressing closer to the wall. He had such deep feelings for JC that they were sometimes overwhelming. It was a relief to know that JC felt the same way.

Joey had not yet responded, and Justin was tempted to peak into the room when his voice finally came. "You sound as if you love this man," Joey said.

"I do." It was a simple reply, just two words. How could two words be so much?

"This from the man who once said that you didn't think you would ever love again," Joey commented.

"I didn't believe that I would," JC said. His voice was sad. "I didn't think that I would ever be able to open up this way. You have no idea how good it feels, to have my heart healed at last. Give Justin a chance," JC begged. "Please. I'm sure you'll like him."

"I'm sure I will." Joey's voice echoed in the large room.

They kept talking, but Justin had heard enough. He tiptoed out of the foyer, back up to bed. The water was forgotten.

For the first time, Justin had heard that he was loved. He was not surprised when he began to cry a few moments later, cradled in JC's pillows. It was too much to keep inside.

Part Four: adamo (to fall in love)

Something smelled like almonds, sweet and nutty. Justin's nose twitched as he tried to identify the scent. Cracking open his eyes, he noticed the faint glow coming from behind a screen in the corner. He watched as JC's form took shape, backlit by the candle. He was undressing quickly and hanging clothes on pegs that poked from the far wall of the chambers.

The light was extinguished unexpectedly and the room plunged into darkness once again. Justin could hear JC moving across the room, steps muffled by thick fur rugs on the floor. The bed sagged as he climbed in and cold air rushing under the covers as JC settled beside him.

"Are you awake? " a voice asked, whispered but loud in the still night.

"Mmmmm." Not awake enough for words, but enough to know that JC was there with him. Justin rolled closer to the middle of the bed and landing on his stomach with one arm up around JC's body.

JC relaxed. Justin fell back to sleep warm and comforted.

**

When it was still dark outside, Justin woke again. The sky was a dark gray. It felt like rain and a dampness that clung to the sheets and skin.

Beside him, JC's breathing was even in his ear. Carefully Justin turned to his side, cautious not to wake JC. He took the opportunity to study this man from up close. The pores of his skin were obvious here, tiny scars from a childhood illness, a stray freckle on his neck. His hair was tied back with a piece of leather, but strands escaped and twisted into loose curls around his face. Justin brushed one back and taking a moment to rub the soft tresses between his fingers.

"Mmmmm," JC hummed, smacking his lips. Justin stilled his hands and watched as JC awoke. His eyes blinked open and blurry at first then coming into sharp recognition as they focused on Justin. "Hi," he said and lips curving in a tiny grin.

"Hi." Justin resumed his caresses, letting his hands travel down to the slope of JC's shoulders. Just to touch JC grounded him, settling nerves and worries that often invaded his thoughts. JC's eyes were like the sky, big and open and cheerful. Sometimes the looked almost purple like the grapes in the vineyard.

"Did you sleep well?” Nothing on JC moved except for his lips. Even his eyes held a steady stare. Justin just nodded in reply.

"I had some dreams, earlier, but after and I slept soundly."

JC smiled at him, reaching up to still his hand. Justin was flustered for a moment and until JC twined their fingers together and laid them on the bed between the two men.

"Did you come downstairs? I found my pitcher on the hall table. "

Embarrassed to be caught, Justin ducked his head and tearing his gaze from JC's. "I wanted water. You had run out and I meant to refill it. I guess I forgot."

JC kept their hands folded together and using both to lift Justin's chin so he could see him again. "Did you hear Joey and I talking?” When Justin nodded and JC sighed. “I thought I heard footsteps. "

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Justin said. "I'm sorry."

"Justin and hey. I'm not angry. I just-- that wasn't how I wanted you to find out."

Justin blinked and feeling a little of the flush fading from his cheeks. JC kept talking.

"I love you and Justin. I do," he said, as Justin began to shake his head. "It's crazy of me and but I do."

"You don't even know me," Justin whispered. "I could be anybody. I could kill you in your sleep tomorrow. I could steal from you and or ruin your vines."

"You wouldn't," JC said, and oh, his voice was so steadfast, so confident, that it was enough to make Justin's heart even bigger. "I look at you and see a man who knows the value of all people and regardless of their station. I see someone who's been brave and strong, enough to live through what most couldn't even imagine. I see you, Justin and the man who sleeps beside me and smiles when I wrap him in my arms at night. I see the man whose lips make me want to never stop kissing him."

"I see you," Justin said in reply. "The man who saved me. The man who gave me my freedom and didn't even ask for anything in return. The man who tells me stories because I can't read them myself, and teaches me about his trade. You're so smart and so kind, and I can't even imagine being you. You're the first person I've ever wanted to kiss, and I love you so much that I don't think my heart can even contain it sometimes and beause it hurts so badly." He was surprised that he wasn't crying, but tears didn't come. Instead, his body was racing with energy and he pressed his face into JC's chest and breathing in the man who loved him.

Strong arms wrapped around his back, and warm lips kissed his temples. Justin shifted so their mouths met and opening for JC. Outside the rain began to fall.

*

The sounds of the house awaking around them forced Justin and JC from bed. Rainy days at the vineyard did not mean a break from work. JC and his workers still went into the rows of vines, making sure that the soil that supported the plants did not wash away. Justin had learned to carefully walk barefoot through the rows, being sure not to step too close to the base of the plants and squish the air out of the soil. JC forbid people to wear boots in his vineyard and fearing the tanned leather would bring traces of harmful chemicals to his plants.

By mid-afternoon, the rain had lightened to a drizzle. The vineyard was shrouded in a heavy mist. On the veranda, JC, Justin and Joey sipped hot tea from ceramic mugs and watched as the last of the workers left the field for lunch.

"Joey and you have to see the marimba that Justin made," JC commented and as they adjourned into the great room to get out of the damp. The instrument sat in the corner next to one of JC's great bookshelves.

"Will you play us something?" JC asked and handing the mallets to his friend. Justin shrugged.

As he began to play, he was reminded of weddings and funerals, the only times that the slaves were given cause to celebrate. They were usually given a little extra fruit and meat, and some time off of their work for merriment. Justin had learned music from many people, coming from all different places. What he played was an old prayer song from the Romans, with a decidely African flair. He held two mallets in each hand and with four melodies blending together into a beautiful tune. If he closed his eyes, He could almost feel the warm sun of Espana on his back and the laughter of the other slaves in his head. Almost.

He was so focused on the piece that it was a surprise to hear JC and Joey's laughing applause when he was done.

"You really made that?" Joey asked. He came behind the instrument to stand with Justin, taking a mallet to try on the keys. He played delightedly and banging out simple tunes. He fumbled all of the mallets when he tried to hold four as Justin had.

As Joey played, Justin felt JC's arms come around his shoulders and pulling him close. "That was beautiful," he said and Justin smiled.

"Thank you." He would play a thousand songs for JC and if only he knew the tunes.

A particularly dissonant series of notes came from the instrument and they both glanced over at Joey's fierce scowl. "I think this thing is best left to the experts," he said and handing the mallets back to Justin. Justin tucked them into the hollow on the side of the frame.

"Will you read to us?" he asked JC and turning in his arms.

"Joey and I will both read," he replied. Joey nodded in agreement. Justin tried hard not to feel left out. He nearly succeeded.

"But over by the fire and where it's dryest," Joey led the way back to the great hearth and plucking a book of rhymes from the shelf and beginning to read.

Part Five: messis (harvest)

The next day, the harvest began. The sun glowed in the sky, and clouds sat still, too lazy to move. It was a perfect late-summer day, just right for working out doors. Justin followed as JC and Joey walked the aisles of the vineyard and testing the grapes before their final time.

"Why do you hold them up to the sun?" Justin asked and watching as they repeated the process at each vine.

"You can tell if the grapes are ready by how much you can see through them," Joey explained. "Different wines require harvesting the grapes at different times. We look to see how ready the grapes are by how much light comes through them. Here," Joey said, handing Justin a yellow grape. "See how the sun shines through this one so brightly? That means it will be sweet and is ready for crushing."

Justin was amazed at how complex the whole process was. It was nothing at all like farming for vegetables or fruit trees. He hurried along behind JC and Joey as they checked each of the vines, spending an entire day amongst the plants.

When the actual harvest began, Justin watched as huge wheelbarrows were rolled out of the barn and down into the orchard. Workers began to pull the grapes from the vines, loading the bunches into the barrels. He was surprised when Joey and JC appeared, dressed in work clothes, and began to help. He'd never seen a master work along with his servants before. He didn't even realize such things were done.

It only took a few hours for Justin to become comfortable in the fields with the rest of the men and women. He sang along with their work songs, at least the ones that he knew. Some of the people spoke in dialects that he could not understand.

When the sun touched the top of the mountains in the distance, a loud horn blew and workers made their way back to the barn, pushing their massive loads of grapes. Justin had never seen so much fruit before, amazed as it was poured into wide barrels.

"What happens now?" he asked Joey, watching the last few loads being emptied.

"These are the presses," Joey explained. "We bring up the wooden covers and crush the fruit. We'll do that tomorrow. Then the juice, seeds, and skins-- we call that the must-- will come down the pipes at the bottom and gather in the secondary barrels. We'll have to get the right balance in the must, then add other ingredients for flavor. Then we press again to remove the skins and seeds, drain the juices, and begin fermentation." He laughed as Justin's jaw dropped with the amount of work still remaining. "Don't worry, Justin, it's not as hard as it sounds. By next harvest you'll be an expert at wine making."

JC finally finished thanking his workers and found his friends in the barn. His hair fell from its tieback, loose and wind-whipped around his ears. His clothes were smeared with dirt and grime, with dark streaks of color from handling the purple grapes all day long. His trousers were torn at the knee.

"I am famished," he announced, rubbing his hands together. Justin smiled at his disheveled look. If one didn't know better, they would never realize that he was more than a common worker. It was a different side of JC than Justin had seen before, and he couldn't help but love this aspect of JC too.

"Well, why are we waiting here when there is a feast waiting at the house?" Joey stomped out of the barn, following the scents of cooking meat and bread.

They were alone for the first time since dawn.

"So, you survived your first harvest," JC said, bringing Justin into his arms. Justin reciprocated the embrace, anchoring his arms on JC's shoulders. His muscles were weary, having rested for so long between labors, but he was surprised that this exhaustion felt good. It was work he did willingly, and it made a difference at the end of the day.

"I didn't know there was so much work involved," Justin said. "It's so complicated."

"You'll learn," JC said, kissing Justin's dirty nose. "I think we'll be bathing tonight," he said, nuzzling their cheeks together. "You're a mess, and I'm sure I look no better."

"You look beautiful," Justin said, loving the way JC's eyes lit up at the compliment. He kissed JC's lips and tasted grapes there. "You've been stealing from your own crop," he teased.

"I told you, I am famished." His stomach grumbled to reinforce the statement.

Justin stepped away, tugging JC by the hand toward the house. "Then let's go eat, before Joey steals our portions too."

Hand in hand they went back to the house, closing the door to the barn behind them.

Harvest night was a celebration like none Justin had seen before. The workers' feast was spread across crude tables in the vineyard, with mounds of meat and bread, and of course grapes; bowls of butter and cream, cheeses, vegetables, and even some sweets-- desserts flavored with exotic cinnamon and ginger.

From the veranda, Justin watched as the workers and their families piled their plates high with food. Some people were playing music, a guitar and small hand drum sending melodies into the night sky. The path to the brook was lit with torches, so that the workers could make their way down to the waters to clean off the grime from the day. At a separate branch of the stream, wives scrubbed at their husbands' clothes, rubbing with lye soap to remove the stains of grapes and grass.

Arms wrapped around him from behind, and Justin leaned back into the warm embrace. JC.

"Are we going to join them?" Justin asked. The wind teased through his hair, tickling it against his ears.

"We can, if you want to." Joey had gone down to join them. He was just visible playing a crude lyre, teasing one of the grape-picker's daughters.

Justin smiled. "No."

He turned his back to the action in the vineyard, focusing instead on JC's face. A smudge of dirt tarnished his nose. Justin brushed it with his fingers, but only smeared it more.

"Come," JC said, taking Justin's hand and leading him back into the house, down the steps to the cellar kitchen. The house was built into the side of a hill, so that the veranda balcony sat on top of the kitchen. If a fire in the oven were to spread upward, only the porch would burn.

Down the stone steps they went, into the room where Justin had never ventured. There were brick ovens built into the side wall, and a large fireplace opposite them. Close to the fireplace was a large copper tub, already half-full with cool water.

JC grabbed a rag to protect his hand as he lifted the large cauldron from the stove. Justin rushed to help when JC's muscles bulged from strain, and the two of them managed to lift the heavy pot of hot water to pour it into the tub.

"You first," Justin insisted, giving JC the chance at the cleanest and warmest water. It was only right.

There were soft cloths draped over the side of the tub, and Justin used one to work a strong lather of the lye soap that sat on the table. He started at JC's shoulders, working slowly to swipe at the dirt and sweat caked on JC's body, revealing clean tan skin beneath. Justin's breath caught at the intimacy of the act, fascinated at the way the water dripped down JC's back, clinging to the hair at his neck and under his arms.

"You're good at this," JC commented, body lax under Justin's touch.

"It was one of my duties," Justin said. He had not spoken much about his life before, but in this quite atmosphere, the words slipped out easily. "My master-- my owner-- Luis," he stammered, "had a nephew who came to stay on occasion. He always requested that I attend to him for his visits. Bathing was one of his favorite activities."

JC stilled under his hands. "I did not mean to remind you of your old life."

Touched, Justin moved so he was kneeling in front of JC. The washcloth fell into the water with a soft 'plop.'

"JC, nothing you could ever do would remind me of that. It's not possible." He smiled a bright sunshine smile, laughing lightly as JC's eyes met his. "Really, don't worry."

"OK," JC smiled back at him. "Come on, I'm clean enough. It's your turn."

Steam rose around him as Justin lowered himself into the bath. He hadn't had a proper bathing in years, just dips in the pond or river to get rid of the worst of the dirt. Never anything this warm, and immediately he fell in love with the way the hot water wrapped around him, submerging him to mid-chest.

"Oh," he cried, a high moan of delight as he breathed in the steam. "I've never felt anything like this before."

It only got better when JC began to wash him, the soapy cloth slipping over his skin. Slick like oil, hot like fire, and more arousing than anything he'd ever experienced. He knew he was hard under the water, and tried to crook his knees so JC would not notice.

Everything was naked and wet as JC's hand broke the surface and began to wipe at Justin's stomach, taking care of the scratches that he'd gotten from a tangle with a pricklebush earlier in the week. Neither of them spoke as JC washed him carefully, eyes downcast toward the steamy tub. Justin licked at his lips, watching JC's face as he worked. JC was beautiful.

When JC's hand brushed against the tip of Justin's erection, his breath hissed in through his teeth. JC raised his gaze to meet Justin's eyes, shades of blues dancing together.

"Is this all right?" he asked, hand hovering a short distance away from Justin's skin in the water. Justin nodded wordlessly. All right. Yes. It was all right.

It was more than all right when JC's hand found him again, using the water and soap to stroke more easily. Justin's body tensed, muscles clenching from neck to feet as something amazing built inside of him, something that made it hard to think at all. All his mind's focus was centered on one thing, something he hadn't ever been prepared for.

JC's voice echoed in his ear, their heads pressed closed together like grapes clustered on the vine. "I love you," he whispered, and Justin practically whimpered the words back to him. "My Justin," JC said, over and over again-- his name, the name he once cursed and now glorified to the gods of the heavens and earth. JC was so smart and so kind and so everything, and this was one more thing that he did, only it seemed so much better than reading or making wine.

The water splashed around him as Justin came, cresting over the sides of the tub as his body convulsed around JC's hand, trapping his arm between Justin's knees. JC twisted his wrist more until Justin finished, spasms ebbing away. It wasn't that he'd never had this happen to him before- he certainly hadn't lived the life of a priest, not when sometimes you just needed a warm body for comfort. But no one had ever taken care of HIS needs like that. He looked up at JC through damp eyelashes, trying hard to focus on the man before him.

JC was breathing deeply too, as if he'd just run a great distance. Justin lifted a hand from the water and pressed his wet palm against JC's warm cheek, stroking at the rough day's growth there, thumb pressed against JC's lips. JC opened his mouth and licked, nipping at Justin's finger until he could suck onn it, drawing it into his mouth. Justin's eyes widened at how sensual it was, something that simple.

When JC released his hand, Justin let it fall back to the water.

"You enjoyed that?" JC's mouth curved in a wispy smile. Justin grinned back at him. Enjoyed was such an understatement.

"Yes," he said, and wished he knew some of the fancy words that JC used. "You make me feel like I've had too much wine," he said, "because I can't control myself when you touch me."

"I like to touch you," JC said, tracing the lines along Justin's forearm. "I like to feel your skin under my hands, and taste your lips under my mouth." He leaned forward for a kiss, which Justin gave willingly.

When JC rose to kiss him more intimately, Justin lowered his hands for a firmer grip on JC's torso, realizing to his embarrassment that JC's erection was still standing upright leaking back over itself. He turned his hand from JC's waist, hoping to give JC some of the relief that JC had brought him.

A strong hand grasped his wrist, and Justin pulled back from the kiss, shocked at JC's resistance.

"What's wrong?" he asked, aching to touch JC. It was almost hurting him not to be touching the man he loved.

"I promised you," JC said quietly, "that I wouldn't ask this of you; that you never owed me anything. I don't want you forced into doing anything, not out of a sense of duty."

Justin cocked his head to the side, studying the apprehension on JC's face. There was want there, need buried beneath restraint and caring. Justin felt the grip on his wrists ease as they stared, speaking volumes with only their eyes.

"Sometimes," Justin said carefully, wanting the words to be right. "I think that I have no worth, that no one would ever want me. It is because of who I was for so long. But I don't believe that, not in my heart, not anymore. That's because of you. How can you think that I wouldn't want you?"

JC hesitated, so Justin pressed soft kisses to his lips, along his jaw. "I love you," he whispered, and it was his turn to try to speak as he finally was allowed to take JC's weeping erection in his palm.

It was awkward, reaching over the tub, so JC stood, long limbs stretching lithely. He threw a leg over the side of the tub, lowering himself into the cooling water with Justin. It splashed over the sides onto the stone floor of the kitchen, causing both men to laugh. Their giggles turned to kisses again, and Justin found JC in the water, setting right to work. His mouth was hot, and Justin's hands worked together to bring JC pleasure. He used every technique he had, tossing in a fair amount of his own, self-developed styles. JC liked when he caressed his balls with soft fingers, so Justin kept one hand there while the other stroked furiously.

It seemed like no time at all, but couldn't have been more than minutes before Justin felt JC's breath sharply exhale on his upper lip, and his cock pulse in Justin's hand. Justin kept stroking, pulling every last bit of the orgasm out of JC's body.

Knees propped up together, ankles bumping at the bottom of the tub, the two men slowly parted mouths, both breathing deeply. Justin was already part-way hard again, just the feel of JC in his hands.

"The water's getting cool," JC said, linking his fingers with Justin's. "We should get out."

"We should." Justin dropped their joined hands into the water and lifted them, watching water rain down from their fingers. It was mindless activity.

"My bed would be much warmer, and more comfortable," JC offered.

Justin smiled back at him, struggling to stand as JC did. Bed sounded good, indeed.

Part Six: artificium (work, craft, art)

The harvest itself had only taken a day, but this wasn't like a regular farm. Food wasn't just stored or shipped off. Instead, the weeks ahead were filled with pressing and tastings, using cheesecloth nets to filter out skins and seeds from the juice, adding hints of apples and honey to flavor the wine and yeast to process it, and pouring the whole mixture into the massive barrels that lined one end of the barn.

JC poured Justin a glass of sweet grape juice one morning, the dark liquid staining his tongue purple. JC had laughed sweetly and kissed him anyway. Justin's belly tumbled with the memory.

Joey stayed on as the wine-making progressed. The weather grew cooler, now. It was colder here than where Justin was from, and he shivered in the early mornings and late evenings. JC found him a warm cloak, leather and fur to keep him warm. Justin took it with thanks, wondering at how easily JC gave gifts.

The leaves on the trees began to turn, and Joey left for a few days to visit some other friends. The time alone gave JC and Justin the chance to frolick around the vineyard. JC took him to the shack in the woods again, where they kissed and touched as the sunlight streamed through the window. JC's skin glowed amber as he lay above Justin, spouting poetry from some far away land.

He showed Justin how to sign his name, how to hold a quill and make the marks that were to be his own. Justin struggled for days before the strokes stopped looking shaky and disproportionate, matching JC's own fine handwriting.

When Joey returned, Justin was beginning to think that his life had been as perfect as he could ever imagine it. His needs were provided for and he felt love every day. Surely a man could not ask for more than that.

"I found you work," Joey said when he came back. And Justin's world stopped spinning. He'd forgotten about his quest for self-sustinace. It didn't seem as important anymore.

"A man I have worked with before has set up a shop in town. He is from the north, like me, though from a different part. He makes musical instruments," Joey said, smiling at the way Justin's eyes lit up. "I told him of your marimba and he would like to hire you. He will show you what he knows and hopes that you will show him your own techniques."

Justin turned to JC, uncertain. "Where is he?" Justin asked. He had not left JC's vineyard since his arrival months ago. His hair had grown back, full and curly, so he no longer looked like a slave, but he had still shied away from venturing away from his safe haven.

"It is about an hour's ride," Joey replied. "The village down the hill. Chris will come here, to meet with you first. You'd have to spend some time with him at his shop, learning, but once you have mastered the craft, he said you could work here and only travel to him to deliver your wares."

JC leaned in close to Justin and squeezed his hand. "It sound like something you would enjoy," he said. Justin nodded. It was the kind of work that he had only allowed himself to dream of. It was craft, not hard labor, something that slaves were only permitted to do when it was too dark to work in the fields.

"Will you meet with him?" Joey asked, eyes pleading. "I promise, you will enjoy Chris. He's a good man."

Hesitantly, Justin nodded. "He will pay me for my work?" Justin asked, just to be sure.

"In money or kind," Joey affirmed. Justin took a deep breath, raising his eyebrows high.

"OK," he agreed, and just saying the words brought a smile to his face. "I'll give it a try."

**

After that, things moved so quickly that Justin's head seemed to spin like a thread on a spindle. The wine making continued all around them, as JC and his workers did their final treatments on the must and began the process of long-term storage for fermenting. There were two methods, Justin learned. Some smaller barrels were filled and loaded into the caves, where cool temperatures would aide in the fermenting. There was also a funnel that led to a room below ground level under the barn, where Justin found barrels taller than he. He marvelled at how much wine they could hold. There were numbers smudged on the front of each one. JC explained that they told how old the wine was, and when it would be ready to drink.

Justin helped out where he could, with lifting and pouring, but he didn't have the skills of the other workers. He spent a lot of his time watching as the others worked. It made him anxious to meet with this Chris. He wanted to be doing something again.

Once the barrels were corked, though, Justin found JC was suddenly very attentive to him. Outside their bedroom window, the vineyard sagged. Leaves hung low on the vines, crinkling into papery waifs before falling to the ground. Inside, Justin felt himself being lifted up, spirits soaring over his own foul memories as JC touched his body.

A warm hand on his belly, fingers resting in the ridges between muscles, and JC rubbed lightly. Beneath his skin, Justin felt his blood run hotter, a furnace blazing with heat. JC's hands were everywhere, palming the curve of his hip, dancing over the ticklish spots on his ribs that made Justin squirm and laugh.

"Stop that!" he cried, catching JC's fingers in his hands. "Or else...."

"Or else, what?" JC smiled down at him. His hair fell in front of his face, but the blue of his eyes shown through.

"Or else I'll have to do it back," Justin laughed. He flipped them quickly, JC stunned as he rolled down beneath Justin's lithe body, sinking into the featherbed. Justin's fingers made quick work of elicting laughs.

"Enough!" JC cried finally, managing to roll away. He was breathing hard and laughing still. Justin felt giddiness bubble over in his own heart. Never had he laughed so much. It felt grand.

"We need to get up," JC said, watching the sun creeping over the horizon. The hills were heavy with fog.

"Someday, we should sleep all day long," Justin declared. Just the thought of it made him shiver with delight.

"We'd have to eat, you know," JC said.

"We can eat in bed. We'll pretend that there isn't a world out there waiting for us, or friends down the hall, or servants downstairs. It'll be just me and you, and a bed."

"Sounds dreamy," JC replied, kissing him quickly before crawling from bed. "But for another day."

Justin sat in the mound of pillows and blankets, watching as JC washed the sleep from his eyes and began to dress. Then he remembered what today was-- Chris was coming. With a jolt he jumped from the pile of linens and grabbed for his own clothes.

**

Chris was nothing like what Justin had expected. He was short, a dimunitive man who made up for his size with a quick tongue. Joey embraced him as a brother when they met in the foyer, laughing as they wrapped their arms around each other. From the doorway to the great room, Justin watched the two meet greet.

"So this is the infamous Chasez vineyard," Chris said looking around. Justin recognized the glint of wonder in his eyes at the luxurious surroundings. It must have been similar to his own expression when he'd arrived months ago. Now, he took the expensive furnishing for granted, after months of familiarity.

"Are you Justin?" Chris stepped forward and offered his arm in greeting. Justin grasped his forearm, to show that he did not conceal a weapon in his sleeves. He forced himself to meet Chris's eyes, fighting the urge to stare at the floor as a slave would.

"Do you speak?" Chris asked, and Justin nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I'm being rude. Please come in," he said, stepping aside so they could enter the room. Justin perched on the edge of a chair, expecting Chris to sit. Instead, he walked straight to the marimba that sat in the corner. He tapped on the keys with his knuckles, humming appreciatively at the low tones.

"You made this?" he asked. Justin nodded. Chris smiled at him, a wide smile that wasn't particularly attractive, not like JC's or Joey's, but showed his happiness all the same. Justin felt the edges of his lips curling in response.

"So, when can you come and work?" Chris said, and that was it. Justin had been hired.

That night, they celebrated with white wines from the vineyard, poured copiously into tumblers on the veranda. Joey plucked at the strings on a tiny guitar, while JC and Justin danced on the steps. The smoke from the torches kept the mosquitos away in the late summer evening, so they stayed there as the sun fell behind the mountains, bidding it farewell and asking for its return in the morning.

"When do you leave?" JC asked, pouring more wine into Justin's glass. Justin's head was swimming with so much to drink, and his stomach rolled cautiously as he sank into a chair.

"Chris wants me to come see him after the next full moon. He says by then the harvest will be over and the time will come to focus on indoor tasks."

"We have two weeks, then," JC replied, sinking onto Justin's lap. He held a cup to Justin's lips and urged him to drink, kissing up the drops that fell to his chin. "You taste good," he murmured, his lips moving over Justin's skin.

"I think it might be time we took this inside?" Joey asked, stopping the music abruptly, pulling his friends apart. "Before you start shedding your clothes here where the whole world can see."

Justin watched as JC smiled up at Joey. "Always looking out for me," he said.

Together, JC and Joey managed to get Justin up the stairs and into bed. His feet weren't cooperating with him. He tugged JC down to the mattress beside him.

"Justin, we're still dressed!" JC kissed him fiercely, then pulled back from Justin's grasp to shed his clothes, and Justin's. Bare, he crawled onto Justin again.

Justin's breath was even in his ear, his face calm in a passed out sleep.

**

Morning came with a pounding headache and a dry, scuzzy mouth. Justin smacked his lips and yelped as a ray of sunlight drove through his eyelids. The sound of his own voice made his headache worse.

"Good morning," JC's voice came. Justin cracked his eyes open and saw JC sitting on the corner of the bed, writing.

"You haven't done that in a while," he said, staring at the paper. A poem, he thought, watching as JC's quill finished a word and dropped to the floor beside the bed. JC crept up next to him and wrapped him in his arms.

"You looked so peaceful, sleeping in the sunlight. You inspired me." He kissed Justin's temple, right where it hurt. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been run over by a cart."

JC laughed lightly. "Too much wine will do that to you. I know a tea that will help."

Promises of relief got Justin downstairs, but he spent most of the day hidden in the great room away from the bright sun. JC brought him a tray of lunch.

"Would you like to go riding with me tomorrow?" he asked, stealing a grape off of Justin's plate.

Justin smiled. "Yeah, I'd like that."

JC kissed him and left again, leaving Justin to wallow for the rest of the day in solitude.

Part Seven: concumbo (to lie with)

Things came up and plans changed. It was not until the last day before Justin was to go to Christ that JC took him riding. The past two weeks had been filled with seamstresses and tailors, measuring Justin for new clothes he would need for his job. Since arriving, his old rags had been discarded and he’d been borrowing attire from JC’s ample wardrobe.

“You need things of your own,” JC had said, so the seamstress and tailor were called, and Justin spent many hours being measured and poked with straight pins while new clothes were assembled. He had to admit, he felt like royalty having such attention lavished on him. He never would have imagined his life would be like this.

“If I had a wife,” JC said casually when Justin mentioned it, “she would make the clothes. I do not choose to marry a woman, so I must pay others to do it for me. It’s nothing more than that.” He’d kissed Justin’s temple and walked away, leaving Justin studying his letters with a piece of parchment and charcoal pencil.

So, after two weeks of fussing, JC cleared off his schedule for a whole day and saddled two horses for them. They rode into the woods, heading north for a time before turning west and climbing into the hills.

“Where are we going?” Justin asked, but JC just shook his head. The sunlight was bright in the sky, a resurgence of summer in the autumn season. Justin’s shirt stuck to his back with sweat.

“We’re almost there,” was all JC would say. He turned his horse up a trail that led up a hill, following the well-worn switchbacks as they climbed higher and higher. Justin let his eyes wander to the view of the valley below them. He could see JC’s house and the whole vineyard from here, stretching out across the land in neat rows.

They finally stopped when they could go no higher, at the summit of this lowly mountain. There was a house there, a rude stone dwelling with real glass windows and a bed of flowers by the door.

Justin jumped from the horse and landed with a thud, surveying the land around him. It was cooler here, the wind whipping freely at him, tossing his curls into his face. He was still not accustomed to having hair, the way it tickled the back of his neck or his ears. JC brushed his own dark locks aside, taking Justin’s hand in his free one and tugging him along until they had reached the front door.

Inside, the walls were plastered white, making the whole dwelling seem light and airy. The sunlight poured in through the windows, illuminating the collection of furniture inside. A grand bed was pushed into the far corner under one window, its hay mattress covered in a featherbed and quilts of linen. There was a fur rug by the fire, the remains of what must have been a great animal indeed, judging by its size. There was a desk, of course, as Justin had found with all of JC’s homes, and a table with two chairs placed near the door. The whole place smell of lavender, fresh and clean and new.

“How many homes do you have?” Justin asked as JC closed the door behind them. He hung his cloak on a peg, holding out a hand for Justin’s as well.

“Just one. The rest of these are, well. This is the old surveyor’s cottage. You can see all of my father’s land from here. My land,” he amended. “I rarely come up here, but. I wanted to be alone with you today. When I’m here, I always feel as if I’m the only one left on the Earth.”

It did feel as if they may be alone in the world, so far isolated from the rest of humanity. The hill was set apart from the main roads- they would not be disturbed by travelers, and no worker would stray so far from the vineyard on a daily excursion. They’d ridden for hours to reach this point, and it would surely be dark by the time they returned.

JC was busying himself setting out a meal on the table, unwrapping cheeses and breads from his pack. They ate together quietly, sipping wine from the jugs that JC kept in a low cupboard in the house. Justin had come to appreciate the differences between the varieties that JC served- the heavy merlots, the oaky lightness of a chardonnay. He liked trying to guess what each kind was as JC smiled at him knowingly.

When they were done with the meal, JC yawned widely, stretching his arms out to the sides. Justin could see the definition of each muscle through the thin fabric of JC’s shirt. He’d traced those lines with his tongue just that morning, but was already hungry for more.

“Lie with me,” JC said, “I need a nap.”

Justin curled up on the giant bed with JC, legs twisted together so that Justin couldn’t tell which foot was truly his. The sunlight from the window had warmed the sheets so that it was as if they were lying in a heavenly cloud.

Justin kissed JC lightly on the cheek, then again, closer to his mouth. JC opened easily when Justin touched his lips, meeting Justin’s tongue with his own. They lay kissing for what seemed like an eternity, as the sun traveled across the sky, moving the beams that flooded into the room.

Finally, JC drew back, keeping one hand anchored at the base of Justin’s head, fingers entwined in his hair.

“Make love to me,” Justin asked quietly, keeping his eyes on JC’s as he spoke, holding him with his gaze. “Please.” He licked his bottom lip in nervous anticipation of JC’s reply.

“Are you sure you want that?” JC asked, easing away so that he could study Justin’s face more carefully.

“Yes,” Justin breathed, and it was a response not only from his mouth but his whole body as he rolled closer to JC. “You told me you would, when I asked.”

JC remembered their first night together, when Justin had been so scared and frightened. He could hardly reconcile that quaking boy with the man who now lay twined in his arms.

“Have you ever… before?” JC asked.

Justin winced at the memories, as they flooded back involuntarily. “Yes. Since I was only a boy I have been doing that for men,” he said, holding onto JC tightly as he remembered. “But never with someone I loved,” he said, kissing JC then to reinforce the statement. “Never because I wanted to. I want to now.”

JC clasped his face between his hands, kissing him deeply. Justin poured everything he had into the kiss, reassuring JC that this was what he wanted, what he had been dreaming about for so long now.

“I love you,” JC whispered as he slowly rolled their bodies until he lay on top of Justin, weight pressing him into the soft bed. “I love you, and never forget that.”

Clothes were brushed away carelessly, without thought of Justin’s new garb being tossing in a heap to the floor. Skin against skin, they lay under the covers as the sunshine warmed them from above. When JC first touched Justin with one oily finger, he braced against the invasion, but soft kisses and quiet words helped him to relax enough to allow JC inside. That was all it took to banish any unpleasant memories, and soon Justin was begging for more. He wanted, he needed, to be closer, closer than he’d ever imagined being with any other human being.

“You’re going to be sore, for the ride home,” JC said, pressing two fingers in now.

“I don’t care,” Justin said, then inhaled sharply as JC added one more finger. He was pressing up against that spot and Justin couldn’t think about anything but the here and now.

When JC finally entered him, holding himself up on those strong arms Justin loved, it was all Justin could do to keep from exploding right then. He kept his hands on his cock as JC began to move, matching the in and out motion that was sending shivers all the way up and down his spine. JC’s hair fell into his face, but Justin could see his eyes were pinched shut, his mouth gapped open as he gasped and came. The gust of JC’s breath on his face was all it took for Justin to come too, spurting up onto his belly as JC thrust one final time inside of him.

They lay together afterwards, watching as the sun dipped lower in the sky. “I do love you,” JC said, his mouth so close to Justin’s ear that he could feel the words as well as hear them.

“And I, you,” he replied, turning in JC’s arms. “I never thought I would love a person,” Justin said. “I thought people were inherently evil. You’ve freed not only my body but my heart.”

JC kissed him then, a response that needed no words.

“We need to leave,” he said, sitting up and reaching for a shirt. Justin reluctantly followed him in dressing and gathering up the remains of their meal. The horses were waiting outside where they’d been left in the pen.

“Tomorrow,” JC said, “your new life begins.”

“No,” Justin replied as they began the ride home. He winced in the saddle, stuffing an extra blanket under his tender behind. “My new life began when I met you.”

Part Eight: insisto (a journey)

Justin was surprised to see Joey’s horse saddled next to his in the drive outside of JC’s big house the next morning.

“My mother is likely wondering why I haven’t come to visit her,” he said simply. Justin suspected it was more than that, but he didn’t object. It would be nice to have the company.

JC pulled him tightly into his arms, wrapping him with love and excitement. “You’re going to do so wonderfully,” he said. “And I will come to visit you as soon as I’m able.”

Justin nodded into JC’s shoulder, face buried in JC’s curls. There was a frightening feeling churning his stomach, one he could not place easily. He had tossed and turned with it for days before realizing its source- he would miss JC, and the vineyard. He’d never had anything before that he would regret leaving behind. It was almost frightening to realize he had grown so attached.

The ride to the village was long, and Justin’s ass was tender still, even with the extra blanket. He squirmed in the saddle to find a more comfortable position, blushing red when Joey laughed as his pain.

“It is the curse of the male lovers,” he said, “to ache while riding after a night together.”

“It’s not so bad,” Justin said, stuffing his cape underneath him as a cushion. He would look ridiculous but at least it provided some padding. “And it is worth the pain.”

“I’m sure,” Joey said, eyes merry. They had been riding silently since leaving JC’s an hour before, and the conversation was a welcome break. Trotting through the long rows of trees was tedious, at best.

“Tell me about JC,” Justin asked suddenly. Joey turned to him with a smile.

“What do you want to know?” he replied.

“Tell me about how you met him. He said you were only boys when you first met.” Justin watched a pair of birds swoop from the trees in front of him, cackling madly at some disturbance. He had hated the birds when running away. They always gave away his hiding spots. Now, he watched the dance through the air with a new appreciation for their gracefulness.

“We were only boys, and couple of pathetic ones at that. Our parents had sent us to be educated by the same man, one who followed the Roman ways. My mother was a Christian,” Joey explained, “but my father adhered to the old ways.”

Justin knew of the Christians and their one god, as well as the Romans and their many. He did not particularly adhere to either system, never having been trained to worship one way or the other. Slaves were more concerned with earthly matters than those of the heavens.

“JC and I roomed together in the dormitory, and became close friends. We were trained in sport, in philosophy, in politics, and in the arts. That is where JC found his true calling, with a pen and paper, writing his poems and such. He was a year older than I, but we managed to remain friends even after he had left the school to train at his father’s side. He would have liked to be a poet by trade, and was expected to be a good one at that, I believe, but his brother had entered the military and someone had to take over the vineyard.”

“He gave up so much,” Justin said, awed at the sacrifices JC had made. It had been his experiences that men looked to take for themselves, not give to others, but JC seemed the exception to that rule.

“He had gained so much,” Joey corrected. “He will never be without money or land, because he is a good businessman. He has workers who appreciate his generosity and fairness, and he still has time to write his poems. And he has you,” Joey said with a grin.

Justin blushed at that, secretly glad that he could be counted upon as one of the good things in JC’s life. It made him feel worthy, useful, and needed, a rushing pride that bloomed from his chest.

“Now,” Joey said, “tell me about you.” They were exiting the forest now, turning down a road that crossed wide meadows strewn with colorful wildflowers.

“I have no story,” Justin said sadly, wishing there were adventures in his life that he could tell of. “I am just a slave who ran away.” He looked about, suddenly aware that he should not speak so freely of these things in the open. There were bounty hunters here, even in the free lands.

“That took a lot of courage,” Joey said. “What made you decide to flee?”

“It wasn’t so much one thing,” Justin said, thinking back to his last year on the plantation. The hot sun, the yelling voices, the beatings, the work that never ceased: he couldn’t have thought of a single thing that wouldn’t make him want to run. “I had to either leave or die,” he said. “I couldn’t live that way anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. I’m just curious, that’s all. I’ve never met an escaped slave before.”

“I didn’t think I would ever make it,” Justin said. “When I left, I was sure that I would be caught, killed. But at least I wouldn’t be there anymore, you know? Anything would be better than that, even being slaughtered by the hunters.” He shivered at the thought, now. How different things seemed when you had something to live for. “Anyway, I had heard things, of places to the north, where the rivers ran backwards and slaves were free. I figured I’d try to get there. And the further I got, the more sure I was that I might make it. Until the end. I was so close, and I couldn’t get across the river.”

“That’s when JC found you,” Joey said. Justin nodded. “He saved me.”

“I think you saved yourself,” Joey said. “JC just gave you a ride.”

They entered the village close to noon, with the sun shining brightly from the top of the sky. Joey led the way through the crowded streets. Justin stayed close to him, keeping his head down with fear of being recognized. He let his horse lead him to the door of Chris’s shop, then around back through an alley to a small stable.

Inside, ever wall was lined with shelves, and every shelf crammed with stuff. Pieces of metal and woods, coils of strings and wires. Justin couldn’t even take it all in. There were finished instruments in the front windows, half finished instruments on more shelves, and vague assemblages that held the outline of instruments strewn over counters and tables throughout the tight space. The warmth from the fireplace at the back of the room and the light that streamed in from the front windows made it a cozy shop, though cluttered to the most extreme degree.

“You’re late,” came a voice from the corner, where Chris sat hunched over a workbench. He spun on his stool and stood to face them. Even though he only reached Justin’s shoulder, he had the presence to send fear shivering up from Justin’s toes.

“We’re right on time,” Joey said amicably, stepping over a pile of wood to embrace Chris in a friendly hug. “Don’t be a grouch.”

“My last bellow broke this morning, and the fire’s gone to pieces.” Chris wiped the sweat from his brow, turning his attention to Justin. “Can you fix a bellow?”

“Sure,” he offered, praying it was true.

“Alright, then. That’s your first job after we eat. I’m sure Joey’s hungry after the long ride.”

“Famished,” Joey agreed. “Lead on to the food.”

Chris took them down the street to the public house, where the smells of roasting pork and duckling wafted into the road. Justin’s mouth began to water when he saw the plates of bread and meat on customer’s tables.

“I don’t have any money,” he hissed in Joey’s ear.

”We pay in kind around here,” Chris said. “I eat for free in exchange for music in the evening. Do you think you can handle playing a tune for these fine folks each evening?”

Justin nodded, carefully weaving through the chairs to an empty table. A buxom woman waved to them from the bar, and Chris waved back with a grin.

“Then we’ll eat like kings, as we should be. My new apprentice,” he said to the woman as she appeared with a basket of bread and dried fruit. “Justin of Timberlake.”

“Welcome to Orland’s,” she said with a smile, pinching Chris’s cheek as she left again to serve the others.

It was all so much, and Justin missed JC fiercely, but the bread was divine and the pulled pork that came later melted in his mouth. This was to be his grand adventure, he realized, eating with friends in a city with thousands of strangers all around. What a grand one it

“And this is the steamer, that we use to curve the wood. You have to get just the right angle to it or the sound of the viol will be corrupted.” Justin watched with rapt attention as Chris pointed out the eccentricities of his complex machinery. He’d never imagined that there was so much to making instruments. Slaves used what they could find lying around, scrap wood and crude hand-made tools. His fingers itched to touch the pristine finished instruments that lined the shelves in front of the shop. He wondered what it would be like to play such a fine instrument, to pluck music from its strings or breathe tunes through the narrow pipes.

“Are you paying attention?” Chris asked. Justin looked back, guiltily, and nodded. He was clearly overwhelmed, and Chris understood. “We’ll save the rest for tomorrow. You understand it will take while to learn all of this. It’s part blacksmithing, part coopering, part carpentry. There’s a lot of different things you’ll have to learn. And some I’m sure you can teach me,” he added with a wink.

Justin smiled weakly. “I’ll try.”

“How about we go get you settled in the back room,” Chris offered. Justin grabbed his things from the floor where they’d been left after lunch and followed Chris. He was surprised to be led to a tiny room on the back of the house, rather than out to the stable where he’d expected to be housed.

“It’s not much, but we can clear out some room here.” Chris shoved some coils of wire and string aside, haphazardly stacking them in the corner so both men could stand. There was a cot along one wall with clean canvas stretched over the frame, and a downy pillow lying at one end. Chris lit the torch on the wall and the dank, dark side room was suddenly cast in a warm glow. The copper pots and wires glowed like fire, making the room homey and cozy. Justin smiled.

“It’s perfect. It’s more than I was expecting,” he said. Sure, it needed a good cleaning, but it was better living quarters than he’d had before.

“It’s not the Chasez Vineyard,” Chris said. He sounded ashamed of his meager offerings, and Justin reached out to touch his shoulders.

“Really,” he said, “I spent most of my life sleeping on the ground. I’ve used rocks as pillows or gone without. I’ve had drips over my head as I slept, or winds that would tear at my clothes all night long. This,” he said, gesturing around the room, “is more than I expected or hoped for. Thank you.”

Chris was quiet for a long minute, kicking at the dirt floor. He drew a circle with the toe of his boot, then erased it away. “Joey told me. About you.”

Justin shrugged. He sat down on the frame of the bed, wooden rod digging uncomfortable into his backside until he eased back, sinking on the canvas. “It’s not a secret. It’s not something I want everyone knowing, but. You should.” He scratched his head, uncomfortable talking about his past with someone new.

“Hey, hey,” Chris said, sitting down on an overturned barrel. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You didn’t do anything wrong, and I mean. You’re pretty damn brave for getting out of it.”

“Thanks,” Justin said. “I’m not ashamed,” he added, though he was, sometimes. He still felt his meager roots keenly. “I’m scared, sometimes. I forget that it’s OK to do things without asking, or to ask at all.”

“You’ll be safe here. I promise.” Chris made signal for a Roman oath, a sign Justin remembered well from the soldiers who had passed through his town. “The town is not kind to bounty hunters who ignore the nation’s boundaries.”

The fact made Justin a little more comfortable. Joey had said the same, on their journey into the village that morning, but the tone in Chris’s voice was much more reassuring. He seemed to have a better feel of the social flow in the village and the pulse of the people who lived there.

They shared a dinner of salt pork and eggs, with hard-crusted bread Chris had taken back from their lunch at the pub. JC had given Justin several wine pouches, which he generously poured into both of their glasses.

“I never thought I’d be drinking Chasez wine with my meals,” Chris said, sipping at the merlot. He closed his eyes and savored the flavor. Justin watched, happy to be able to provide such luxuries.

“I know.” He giggled. “To the high life, right?”

“To the high life,” Chris agreed, raising his glass in a toast. “Welcome to the music business, Justin of Timberlake. May you be happy and prosperous here.”

Part Eight: accipio (to learn)

**

In the days that followed, Justin was like a shadow to every move Chris made, from the shop preparations at sunrise to the clean up activities at sunset. He followed Chris through the routine of making horns and guitars, of repairing lyres and drums, and of performing every other evening at the pub down the road. He sat on the sidelines with a drum between his knees, keeping rhythm as Chris plucked at the strings of a guitar and sang about war, conquest, and destruction.

“Don’t you know any happy songs?” Justin asked. He thought of the melodies the slaves had sung while working, songs of paradise where the sun didn’t burn and the rains didn’t soak, places where you could sleep all day and dance all night, where no one would ever hurt you.

“People don’t like happy songs,” Chris said. “They want to hear about how they are better than the next, smarter than the next, mightier than the next. People want power, and they want songs about having it.”

Justin shrugged and shifted the heavy weight of the drum to his other arm as they marched back up the hill in the dark. “That’s so wrong.”

“It’s the nature of man,” Chris said, sounding very disgusted. Justin wondered what had made him give up hope about humanity. There were ghosts in Chris’s past that continued to haunt him. Justin did not dare to ask. His own experience had told him that secrets were best revealed in their own time. Chris was becoming a good friend to him, and Justin did not want to breech their tentative trust by pressing too hard for answers to all of his lingering questions.

**

JC came to the village after two weeks, when his work preparing the vineyard for winter was finally complete. He’d sent a letter with a messenger at the beginning of the week, and Justin was on pins and needles for the days to follow, anxiously anticipating the visit. Chris had laughed and teased him mercilessly. It was a sign, Justin thought, that he took the criticisms with a laugh and a smile. JC had given him that self-confidence, and Chris had worked it into something more. He was a friend, Justin knew, and a good one. He treasured that more than any material object on the earth.

When JC rode up, Justin was waiting at the shop window, idly sanding the neck of a guitar. He dropped the wood with a clatter, Chris’s scolding barely registering as he dashed out the door. JC took too long to dismount, Justin shifting anxiously from foot to foot. JC looked marvelous, his cape billowing behind him in the breeze, a deep crimson banner that caused passersby to stop and stare at this important man. Justin took the reins and held JC’s mount still as his boyfriend swung down swiftly.

“Justin.” Just the one word, and Justin’s heart swelled in his chest. His eyes sparkled as he gazed upon his love, standing so proudly in the street outside of the music shop.

“JC.” Justin led him around the shop to the stable in the back, where his horse would be kept for the duration of JC’s vineyard. Inside the crude shelter, the scents of hay and animals permeated the air. Justin heaved the heavy saddle off of the horse’s back and onto the waiting stand. Hands gripped his shoulders and JC’s mouth was at his ear, kissing the scruff of his cheek, his temple, the chords of his neck.

“You taste like sawdust,” he said. Justin grinned, turning into JC’s arm. His smile brightened to the shine of the sun when he could once more gaze on JC’s face. His love looked just as he remembered. Justin leaned in for a kiss. When his lips touched JC’s, it was a perfect moment. The world stood still, and alone in a lowly stable the two came together. There was something in Justin that settled then, as JC kissed him senseless. It was a cementing of their relationship- this wasn’t something that could exist only in an isolated time and place, but a love that transcended location and calendar to exist eternally as a part of their lives.

When Justin drew back, gasping for air, JC pulled him tightly into a hug, squeezing the breath from Justin’s body. Justin wrapped his arms around JC and clung fiercely, never wanting to let go.

**

“And this is my room,” Justin said excitedly, dragging JC by the sleeve into his tiny area at the back of the shop. He’d cleaned up all of the clutter into neat collections on the shelves, and covered the empty barrels with a plank to make a small table. He hoped JC would see the parchments there, where Justin had been practicing his letters. Before he left, he hoped to be able to send a written message to JC.

“It’s nice,” JC said. Justin could tell he was trying to hide his true reaction to the paltry surroundings.

“It’s mine,” Justin replied, hoping JC could comprehend the significance of that. A smile bloomed on his lover’s face, and Justin loved him more for his understanding.

He took him through the shop and showed him all he had learned- how to use the steam to curve wood and how to file pegs that held strings so they would turn in their holes but not slip free. He showed JC the crude pipe he had made, sweating over the fire to heat the metal so it would stretch thin but not fall closed. JC held it as if it was gold.

That night, the three of them walked the cobbled road to the pub for dinner. JC carried Justin’s flute in his pocket, insisting on playing with them as they entertained. At first, JC’s talent surprised Justin, but he recalled Joey’s tales of JC’s love of the arts in school. He’d surely been trained to play a flute. JC brought sweet melodies from the humble pipe, twittering along with Chris’s tales of the ancient Greek armies that conquered the world. Justin tapped away rhythms that had grown more complex as he learned better how to use the drum, highlighting its different tones and timbres.

It was late when they left the drunken raucous behind, weaving back up the street. JC had his arm heaved heavily over Justin’s shoulder, belly full of ale. He babbled about how wonderful it was that Justin was fitting in, finding his niche among the craftsmen of the town. Justin smiled encouragingly as his lover carried on.

“But you can’t stay here,” JC proclaimed loudly, prompting cries of “Hush, now!’ from the nearby homes. “You can’t stay here because I need you at home, so you must come back to me. Chris, you must send him back when he has learned all he needs.”

“I promise you that,” Chris declared with an impish grin. “He wouldn’t be much good to me here if he was moping over being away from you.”

Justin guided JC into his room, bidding good night to Chris at the bottom of the ladder leading to his master’s loft. In the back room, JC cuddled closely on the cot, shoving Justin back against the wall. Justin snuggled closely, the feeling of a warm body pressed against his so delicious after long nights alone. He traced the length of JC’s arms with his hands, as if making sure nothing had changed in their time apart.

JC’s light snores came quickly, before Justin could even begin to seduce him. With a sigh, he tugged the rough woolen blanket higher, curling one arm around his boyfriend. This was the way things were meant to be, he thought as his eyes drooped wearily. Music, and friends, and the one he loved most of all by his side.

Part Nine: epistula (the letter)

Autumn arrived with cold, biting rains that always managed to find the holes in Justin’s tunic, dripping down his neck to chill his backbone, sliding up his shirtsleeves to make his elbows icy and numb. It was miserable weather, keeping everyone indoors where the fires couldn’t quite ward off all of the damp, and close confines drove everyone to a bit of madness.

In his first few weeks with Chris, Justin would often work outdoors in the sunshine, sitting on the small patch of grass near the stable. He’d practiced his carving or filed away the rough edges of metal pipes so they would fit together. Now, he was forced inside with his mentor, squinting to see by the light of the lanterns and the roaring hearth.

Without sunlight steaming through the large front windows, the shop was dark all day long, an eternal twilight that was no help to getting work done at all. Chris’s mood was as stormy as the skies most days, his language as foul as a sailor’s. Nothing was going well, it seemed. Justin sat on his little stool in the corner and worked to restring a lyre. A group of troubadours had passed their way in the early week, glad to see professional craftsmen who could fine-tune or repair their many instruments. It was good money for Chris, but meant long hours getting all of the repairs done by the time the group left in two days.

“Fuck this,” Chris called out loudly, tossing the flute he held to the ground, where it clattered angrily against the stones on the hearth. “Damn rain’s gone and made everything swell and stretch. Curse the gods who sent us this weather.”

Worried, Justin glanced up. “Don’t say that, Chris. You’ll only make more trouble.”

“To hell with it,” he announced. “I’m going for supper.” He stormed out the front door, not even asking if Justin wanted to come. Justin debated, then decided to let Chris cool off before confronting him. He finished the lyre, taking a few moments to strum a pretty melody on its strings before setting it on the counter of finished products. His back ached from sitting for so long, so he stretched, raising his arms to brush the thatching on the ceiling, letting his muscles sing their relief from holding such a cramped position.

Chris was, he’d found, a bear of a man but only on the surface. Underneath, he had the patience of a priest, the composure of a senator, the caring of a healer. He did not like to talk about his past, which Justin could respect wholeheartedly, but little things had slipped through. He had come from the north, a country west of where Joey had his roots, but held no allegiance to the region. His family had been rather gypsy-like, traveling often and working hard for their survival. He had a mother and sisters, but seemed reluctant to talk about them. Justin had not pressed for details, understanding that when Chris’s bubbly energy turned taciturn, it was best to simply let sleeping giants lie.

Now, with his daily quota of work done at the noon hour, Justin picked up Chris’s flute and began to painstakingly file the rough area where it had been patched. He wondered how one created a hole in the solid metal to begin with. Carefully, he used the rough steel wool to smooth it down so that the patch was hardly noticeable.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Chris’s voice called from the door. Justin turned to see him, dripping a large puddle onto the floor of the shop. Justin set down the tools and stared. There was something in Chris’s eyes, something almost wild-looking.

“I don’t mind,” Justin said gently. He crossed the room to where Chris stood, closing the door behind him. Outside, the rain had turned the streets to muddy streams, surging past the house, washing away the front gardens that the girls next door had carefully filled with chrysanthemums only days before. Now, the heads of the flowers bobbed above inches of murk. It was a shame.

Inside, Chris crossed to the desk he used to keep a record of his transactions. His footprints left a muddy trail across the floor. Justin thought it best not to say anything about the mess.

From the desk, Chris pulled two letters, folded parchments with seals of wax fixing the corners together. He handed one to Justin, who stared at the blurry writing on its exterior. He recognized his name, the symbols JC had taught him to scribe on a summery afternoon. The thought of JC made him homesick, for it had been two weeks since he’d last seen his love. He wondered if JC was writing, more, now that the vineyard required less of his attention. He hoped JC’s fingernails were still stained black for ink, because that was when JC was the most happy.

Who would write him a letter, though, knowing that he could not read? He stared at Chris, wordlessly, with questions in his eyes.

“It arrived yesterday. I’m sorry I did not pass it along to you sooner, but I received some distressing news of my own.” He smiled a bit then, sadly. Chris shifted his weight from foot to foot, his stockings and shoes squishing loudly with the movements.

Justin opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, not really sure what to say. He did not want to anger Chris again by prying. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. He wished he could say more.

“My stepfather is dead,” Chris began, “and my family is in distress.” His shoulders slumped, in defeat.

“I’m sorry,” Justin said again. He truly felt for Chris. In all his life, Justin had never had any family, so he’d never know what it was to lose a family member. He’s had friends die, other slaves who he’d known for many years, but it was different. Never before had he lost someone tied to him in a meaningful way. He couldn’t imagine Chris’s anguish and pain.

“I need to send for them,” he said, carefully unfolding his letter and reading it again. “They have no one else to care for them but me. One of my sisters is engaged to marry- perhaps she will move up the wedding and stay on with her new husband. But I cannot leave the rest of them to starve.”

Justin sucked in a breath as the real meaning of family hit him: responsibility. It was the duty of family members to care for each other, and Chris was now faced with that task.

“When the rains cease, I will have to go for them,” Chris said, closing the letter and hiding it back in the desk for safekeeping. “Justin.” His voice was choked when he spoke, as if sobs were fighting to break free. “I cannot care for them, and keep you here. I’ll need the room, and the money.”

Justin nodded wordlessly. “I understand.” Family must come first, after all, and he was no one’s family, just a cast-away who’d been living on borrowed money and borrowed time. He’d go back to JC, he knew, but it would never be the same.

“Justin,” Chris said, and his voice was a quiet as a gentle wind in the trees, “I’ll teach you everything I can in the time remaining. You were never to stay here forever, anyway. This way, you’ll go home sooner, and I’ll continue to send for your wares to sell here.”

Justin looked up, eyes full of hope. He wasn’t being released? Chris wanted to finished the apprenticeship. Without thinking, he lept forward to wrap Chris in his arms, squeezing tightly in relief.

“Hey, hey, what’s this?” Chris asked, taken aback at Justin’s show of affection. He petted the fuzzy curls on the top of Justin’s head, soothing the boy who was now gasping out his thanks.

“You still have to teach me how to make the marimba,” Chris warned. Justin sniffled a bit and giggled.

“OK.” He rubbed at Chris’s back, a bit, hoping to soothe away some of the grief that Chris kept bottled up tightly inside.

Chris sneezed over Justin’s shoulder, and Justin pulled back. ‘Sorry,” Chris mumbled, rubbing under his nose. It was quite red.

“You should go change,” Justin said, realizing he too was wet from pressing against Chris’s soaked clothes. Below their feet, the floor was covered in water.

“I should. I’ll leave you alone to read your letter.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Justin laugh. He looked at the letter, still clutched in his hand.

”Who is it from?” Justin asked, showing the envelop to Chris. Chris looked up, surprised.

“JC. You can’t read that?”

Justin shook his head, ashamed, but Chris only shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it. Most of the world can’t read these days. Come upstairs, we’ll find some blankets and I’ll read it to you.”

They sat, curled together on Chris’s bed, as he broke the wax seal and began to read. Chris’s legs were tucked under his covers, his back resting against the asymmetrical wooden headboard. His hair still dripped, leaving little dark spots were the drops fell onto the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Justin perched cross-legged on the end of the bed. He’d never been invited upstairs before, and took in the meager surroundings- white washed walls, a tiny glass window that was blurry with dust, strange furniture that Chris had likely made himself. It was a room perfectly suited for the man who lived there- simply but created with a flair for the dramatic.

Dearest Justin,

“Awww,” Chris teased. Justin hit his foot.

“Shut it,” he commanded. Just read.

Dearest Justin,

It’s been a week since I left you, and Joey suggested that I send you a letter, since I cannot come and see you as much as I would like. He assures me that Chris will read it to you, and I hope that is true. If not, maybe you will just know that I am thinking of you, and someday you will look back and be able to read it, remembering us at this time.

With harvest over, the vineyard is very quiet. Many of our workers have migrated to the north, where harvests are still going on. Some of them will be back next year, but others we will never see again. It’s a sad time here, but also hopeful, when you see the big casks filled with potential wine. It’s the potential that’s so wonderful about wine-making. You always have something to look forward to. With all of that, I’ve been writing more, and I feel it’s some of my best works. I remember what you told me, about being remembered in hundreds of years. I wonder if someone will someday read my words and know my name. Then I think that I must first show them to someone’s who’s living now, and laugh at my own foolishness.

I miss you, Justin, but I like thinking of you working hard, learning how to be a great craftsman. I wonder if you think of me too, and hope that you do. I’m so proud of you, that you are working so hard to find yourself in this great world where so often we are too lazy or too unmotivated to do things for ourselves that require any effort or risk. You ambition is an inspiration to me as I write, your face and your love are muses for my work. I hope that you are enjoying your life in town, making new friends and singing for your supper. I hope you are making beautiful music, for that is when you look the happiest.

Be kind, be happy, and know you are loved.

Always,  
Your Joshua (JC)

Chris fell silent as he finished, looking up at Justin. His face was smooth and calm, but a single tear trickled down his cheek, leaving a damp trail that led to watery eyes.

“It must be nice,” Chris said, “to be so loved.” He handed the letter to Justin, who tucked it into his belt.

Justin nodded slightly, his head still swimming with emotions. JC’s words were music to his ears, sweetly wrapping him in love that crossed the hills and plains between the village and vineyards. Justin sniffled, and wiped his eye at with the back of his finger. He did not feel embarrassed for his tears, for they were just another sign of passion, the same as Chris’s boisterous voice or Joey’s laughter.

“I think we should take the rest of the afternoon off,” Chris announced, “for we won’t be getting much work done now. Why don’t you teach me some of your songs, the happy ones?”

Justin nodded, rising gracefully from the bed. “Happy songs are good on a day like today,” he said. He waited while Chris pulled on dry clothes, then followed him down the steep stairs.

“I’ll miss you when you leave,” Chris said. “Not that I’ll notice with all of the women underfoot, but it has been good, having your company these months.”

Justin was surprised that he felt the same way. Chris was a good friend, one he would regret leaving behind. But JC was waiting for him, back in the stone house in the hills, and that was the most important thing in the world.

Part Ten: aegrotatio (Sickness)

The miserable weather culminated with a bout of sickness that spread through the village like a swarm of locusts descending on a healthy crop. No one in its path was safe, including the two craftsmen huddled up in their tiny shop. It was Chris was struck, perhaps weakened by his walk in the rain the previous afternoon, perhaps simply more vulnerable because he didn’t have the strong healthy body that Justin had developed from years of hard labor. Or perhaps, it was because he had cursed the gods who sent the rain, but that theory would never be proven.

No matter the source, when Chris did no appear in the shop by mid-morning, Justin climbed the creaky staircase to investigate the delay in his master’s wakening. He found Chris twisted in the blankets, shivering even as beads of sweat popped along his forehead. When Justin touched a hand to Chris’s cheek, it felt as hot as metal left to bake in the summer sun. Justin recoiled as if burned, horrified at the shakes that raked through Chris’s body.

Chris blinked up at him with bleary, unfocused eyes. “Justin,” he mouthed, though no sound came from his throat.

“Chris,” Justin whispered back, unsure of what else to say. He had dealt with many sicknesses in his life, though none that had come over this quickly. He was only relieved there were no blisters or sores on Chris’s skin that would be signs of a deadly infection.

“The chemist,” Chris whispered in a hoarse voice, and Justin nodded mutely. He wrapped himself in leathers to keep the wet off his skin and ventured out in the rain in search of help for his friend.

Justin had met the chemist several times during his tenure in the village. An elderly man with graying hair, he often ate dinner at the pub and had been the first to compliment Justin on his singing voice after he began to accompany Chris. Westbrook, his name was, for he lived near the stream at the edge of town. It was a long ride, and Justin was soaked to his skin with icy rainwater by the time he’d arrived at the cottage.

If it had been a social visit, Justin may have stayed for a cup of ale or some nourishment, but he was in a hurry to get back to Chris, to bring him some relief. Justin had some knowledge of herbs and roots that would heal illness, but he had not had a moment to spend looking for them in the village public garden. Now, with the rains turning all unpaved ground to gooey mud, there was no way he could hunt down the right combinations for fevers or chills.

“Take this, and mix it with some water, and honey if you have it. Hot. Have him drink it, three times a day. Lots of water,” Westbrook advised. “And keep him warm.”

Justin thanked the man, promising him the tune of his choice the next time they met in the pub, since he had no money to pay for the medicine. He tucked the glass vial safely into the pouch slug at his waist and turned the horse for home. He could not gallop, for the road had turned uneven and puddles disguised deep holes, but he kept to a steady trot as he hurried home under the pouring of the heavens.

When he got back, Chris was up, sitting on his bed trying to thread the strings of a lyre through the tuning pegs. His hands shook uncontrollable, and the blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders was slipping.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Justin scolded, as a parent would to an insolent child. From his pouch he took the vial and held it in front of Chris’s red, watery eyes. “For you,” he said, “if you get back into bed and put the work away.” He was pleased to see Chris was at least coherent, but worried by the glassy look in his eyes. He knew that sometimes sickness came in spells, with deceiving relief in between that gave false hope of recovery.

Grumbling, Chris climbed back under the covers, sighing in relief as the weariness once again settled into his bones. From the hearth, Justin drew a cup of boiling water and shook in some of the powder from Westbrook’s vial. He found some honey in a crock on the hall shelf and added a generous teaspoon. Chris shuddered at the taste, even with the honey to sweeten the concoction.

“Rest,” Justin demanded, tugging the covers over Chris’s shoulders. He ran downstairs to bring his own blanket up, remembering Westbrook’s advice to keep Chris warm.

The shakes returned in late afternoon, as the sun just began to break from the clouds. It was the kind of weather where rainbows came, apologies from the gods for their bursts of tears. Justin strained his eyes to see one, but couldn’t find any colors in the sky. Beside him, Chris slept fitfully, tossing and turning. For two days, he did not wake fully. He cried out for people Justin knew- his mother, his sisters, even Joey and Justin. He cried out names Justin had never heard before- Danielle, Michelle, others. Those names made him the most agitated, so Justin soothed away the wrinkles on his forehead and whispered soothing words. He told stories he’d heard from the other slaves, and stories from JC’s collection of books. The words might not have been right all of the time, but they calmed Chris’s fits and helped him rest.

The next morning, Chris opened his eyes an they were clear. Justin sighed with relief and went to his own bed, where he slept until the sun had sank and rose again.

When he emerged from his room, his hair was a tousled mess and his skin itched with dried sweat. The cold rainy weather had broken, giving way to warmer, drier days. Chris looked pale, but was sitting on his stool in the shop, repairing instruments.

“Ah, you have awoken,” he said. “I thought maybe you had died in your sleepy.”

Justin grinned at the grim humor, glad to have Chris’s jovial personality back. “I thought the same of you, a few times.”

“Yes, well.” Chris held out a hand. “Thank you,” he said, “for caring for me.”

Justin shrugged, embarrassed, but shook Chris’s hand. “Any man would do the same.”

“They wouldn’t,” he said, and Justin agreed. He had known many people in his life who would leave a bleeding man to die at the side of the road. He remembered viciously a spring day long ago, when he rode in the back of a wagon across a barren road. Another boy had become sick from the jostling ride. Justin had watched wide-eyed as the driver threw the boy over the side of the wagon. The thud of the boy’s head on the ground echoed in Justin’s head even years later, and the image of that limp body lying on the dusty road flashed through his mind painfully. He shook his head, as if he could push the image out.

Chris cocked his head strangely at Justin’s stare. ‘So. We have some good news from all of this.” He gestured to the table of finished instruments. The musicians had not been by to claim them.

“Dead,” Chris said, “all of them. It seems they brought the disease with them from another village.” Justin nodded, mutely. How lucky, then, that he had not become ill, after such close contact with the source. How lucky that Chris had survived.

“Take them,” Chris said, holding out the repaired instruments. “Take them home with you, as my gift. Use them as models. I’ll come visit soon, with a wagon to pick up what you’ve made.”

Justin grinned at him. “I hate to leave you, when you’re still recovering.” The thought of JC rippled through his system.

Chris laughed. “You may, but you’re more anxious to get going. Go, pack. My family will be her before the end of the week, and I’ll likely spend the days between then and now cleaning to my mother’s standard and finding a way to make this place inhabitable for women.”

Justin took a moment to laugh but his feet were already moving toward his room. He gathered his clothes and the few tools he’d made while at the shop into saddlebags. Back in the shop, he added the instruments to the bags. Chris slipped in some food for the ride.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said, patting the rump of Justin’s horse. Justin smiled down at Chris from his perch on the horse’s back.

“I’ll come visit,” he promised. “And you’ll come to the vineyard.”

“I will,” Chris said. “I have to show off my fancy friends to my family.” He was smiling broadly, and Justin felt better about leaving him alone. Chris would have people to care for him, to keep him from slipping into his dark moods.

Leaving the village behind, Justin didn’t look back, only forward.

**

The vineyard was curiously still when Justin approached. Wind didn’t even stir the brittle leaves that still clung to tree branches. There was no bustle of activity in the fields beyond the house, where grapevines stood naked in the waning daylight. Justin dismounted and left his horse in the drive when no one came to escort it to the stable. They weren’t expecting him afterall.

The hallway smelled like home when he stepped through the door, of wood and leather and candle wax. He could hear the clang of pots clamoring up from the kitchen in the back, and smiled. Things were not as deserted as he’d thought.

He undid his cloak and was tying it to the peg on the wall behind the door when Justin heard the rustle of skirts and a gasp of shock behind him. He turned, expecting one of the servant women, instead was greeted with a well dressed lady. He hair had mostly fallen from its ties, but there was still an air of well-bredness about her.

“Who are you?” she asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing. JC’s eyes, Justin recognized, familiarity washing over her.

“I’m Justin,” he said. “Are you Heather?”

Her stare softened, and she set down the pitcher of water clutched tightly in her hands. “I am,” she said. “My brother talks a lot about you. I did not know you were coming.”

“I didn’t know myself until this morning,” he said, smiling warmly.

“It’s a good thing you came,” Heather said. “He’s been asking for you.” She pointed up the stairs.

Justin cocked his head, baffled by why JC would be asking for him when he knew Justin was away. Justin took the steps two at a time, bounding to the second floor and into JC’s room. He was completely unprepared for what he saw.

Rather than the vibrant, healthy JC he had left, Justin found a frail shell of the man, propped up against the headboard on a mountain of pillows. His skin was a swallow milky white, with deep circles under his pale blue eyes. Justin went to him, hoisting one hip onto the edge of the mattress, taking one of JC’s limp hands between his own. He brushed a soft kiss over the dry skin at the back of JC’s hand. JC stirred, moving his head slowly to look at Justin.

“You came back,” he croaked, his beautiful voice scratchy and raw. Justin held JC’s hand to his own cheek, trying to make it like when JC lifted his hand on his own, giving JC the proof that he was really there.

“What happened?” he asked. “When did you…?” his voice trailed off.

“A week ago,” JC whispered. “I didn’t think you’d make it in time.”

“No,” Justin breathed, “no, JC, don’t talk like that.” He scrambled more fully onto the bed, taking JC’s face between his hands. JC’s skin was so cold, so thin that Justin could see the blue veins pounding beneath it.

“I’m so tired,” JC said. “And I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Justin said, tears streaming down his face. “Rest,” he said, kissing JC’s sweaty forehead. “Just rest.”

He sat with his love while JC slept, breath so shallow Justin could scarcely see the rise and fall of JC’s chest. Justin kept one hand on JC’s hear to make sure it kept beating. This wasn’t fair, he thought. He wept bitterly. He couldn’t lose JC, not when everything else was lined up perfectly. It wasn’t fair.

Heather came in with a fresh pitcher of water, and laid a cool cloth on JC’s forehead. “We don’t know what happened,” she said. “One day he was up dancing with a group of musicians, the next he didn’t have the strength to lift his hand from the bed. They sent for me to come care for him three days ago.”

Justin licked his lips. Musicians. “A group of troubadors came through the village midweek. They’re all dead now, as are a good portion of the people there. They carried the illness.”

“And my brother couldn’t say no to a traveling artist,” Heather said grimly, patting JC’s arm. “Bless him, it’ll cost him his life.”

Justin wouldn’t believe it. “The chemist,” he said desperately. “Has anyone been to him.”

Heather shook her head negatively. Her eyes were sad. “There is no one left in the fields, and I dared not leave his side.”

Justin’s horse was still waiting in the drive, and less than five minutes later he was on the road again. It was well after dark when he rode into town, thankful for the nearly-full moon to guide him. He raced through the village to the cottage by the creek, only to find Westbrook had gone out to care for a patient and was not available.

“He said to refer people to this man,” Westbrook’s wife said. “Lance, who lives just on the edge of the village. Westbrook has been training him, too, and he may be able to help.”

Justin called his thanks from the back of his horse, already galloping down the lane. He had to hurry, to get help and get back to JC. It was his only hope.

Part Eleven: adiutor (a helper)

According to Westbrook’s wife, Lance lived in a room at the boarding house in town, far to the south from where Chris’s shop was located. Justin took the stairs two at a time, feet barely brushing the steps as he hurried to Lance’s door. He pounded until his fist went numb and kept banging, until a low voice cursed on the other side and the door wretched open sending Justin tumbling into the arms of a young man about his age. A very angry young man, from the scowl on his face, wrinkles from the bedding crisscrossing the skin of his cheek.

“Who are you?” he demanded harshly, shoving Justin back to his feet. Justin gasped for breath, squeaking out the name of the chemist who had referred him. Lance released him roughly and swiped a hand through his hair, making it stand up in blonde spikes.

“How bad is it?” he asked, already reaching for a fresh tunic from the peg on the wall. Justin filled him in as best he could. He ached to get back to JC, to hold him, comfort him, and just be there with him. He prayed JC was hanging on, asking the gods to watching out for JC while Justin couldn’t be there.

In seconds, Lance had gathered a wide assemblage of clay pots stuffed with cotton and small glass vials, together with pouches of dried herbs and roots. He threw them all into his saddlebags without saying a word. Down the stairs they raced, pausing only for Lance to retrieve his horse from the stable before galloping off through the village and up the northern road to the vineyard. Hurry, Justin thought, willing the horse to move faster, his strides stretching further. Hurry.

The ride was impossibly long, and several times Justin thought he might be lost. The trees blended together in a sylvan maze under the moonlight. Somewhere in the clusters of trees, an owl called out to the, hooting his warning to leave the forest before it was too late; for what, Justin did not know. Instead, he focused on the steady pounding of the horse’s hooves on the damp earth, glancing over his shoulder periodically. He knew nothing about Lance, but respected him instantly for keeping up.

At last, the trees gave way to sloping meadows. At night, they were shades of gray, long grasses sweeping into bows as the horses rushed past. Hurry, Justin thought. Hurry.

When the vineyard came into view, Justin’s horse seemed to pick up speed, sensing that home was near. He steered to the front door rather than the stables. This time, when he arrived, a boy was waiting to take the horses.

Lance followed two steps behind Justin. He was a quiet man, not talkative at all, but very efficient. Justin stood back and waiting as Lance carefully laid the saddle bags on the foot of the bed, pressing a hand on each of JC’s clammy cheeks.

“He’s bad,” Lance rumbled, reaching for one of the bags. On the dressing table he set a mortar and pestle, several jars, and some strips of oiled cloth. “But not hopeless.” He turned, offering a small smile to Justin, who sagged against the wall as relief washed over him. “He’s lucky you found me in time.”

Justin nodded wordlessly, exhaustion creeping into his bones. Silently, he pulled a chair close to the bed and took JC’s hand between his own. From the other side of the bed, Lance laid a cloth across JC’s forehead, laced with strong-smelling oils. Lance was just beginning to force some liquid into JC when Justin felt his head sag. He fell asleep at JC’s side.

**

When he woke, the pain in Justin’s neck was unbearable. Smoothly, he stretched backward trying to ease the tension that throbbed in his muscles. His first thought was the ache. His second was JC, who still rested soundlessly on the bed, one of Lance’s cloths across his head.

“Here.” A warm wet weight draped over his neck and shoulders, instantly easing the tight muscles there. Justin sighed in relief as the medicine in the poultice soothed his muscles.

“Thank you.” Lance sat down on the foot of the bed, glancing back at JC.

“His sister came in a while ago. She seems to think you’ve saved him.” Lance had his small hands constantly moving on JC’s feet, rubbing and rubbing. Justin realized he was keeping them warm. The small gesture suddenly gave him all the confidence that Lance would help JC recover. Something he had heard a long time ago from a soothsayer, that sickness must be treated all through the body or else the whole body would not work together to fight the diseased spirits.

“How is he?” Justin asked, easing up on the bed at JC’s side. He lifted one of JC’s limp hands and kissed it tenderly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lance carefully looking away. He hoped fervently that Lance was not one of those Joey had warned him about who did not believe in men together.

Lance smiled warmly at the question and the threads of fear in Justin’s belly subsided. The early dawn was cool, and with the shutters closed, only candlelight lit the room. Lance’s eyes were glowing strangely as if they had their own source of power. Justin wondered if there was something faerie in him. Whatever it was, he didn’t mind if it could help JC.

“He’s holding on.”

JC shifted slowly on the bed, a whimper escaping his parched lips. Justin was there in a moment, quick to caress JC’s cheek and whisper words of comfort into his ear.

“See if you can get him to drink this,” Lance said, handing Justin a mug. It smelled like the same brew that Justin had made for Chris, a sweet spicy aroma that tickled his nose. He held it to JC’s lips. His nose twitched and mouth opened a bit. With one arm wrapped behind JC’s shoulders, Justin urged the warm fluids down his throat.

“Let’s hope this works,” Lance said, wrapping a wool blanket tightly around JC’s feet. Justin placed a soft kiss on JC’s temple as he finished the drink.

“Justin,” JC whispered. His eyes opened, cloudy but not completely unfocused. Justin smiled down at JC, tracing the stubbly growth on his chin.

“Hi,” he said warmly, kissing JC’s sticky sweet lips. JC smiled weakly.

“Who’s that?” he said, and his voice was a bit stronger. Justin followed JC’s gaze to where Lance now stood at the foot of the bed, wringing out a new cloth and coating it with more of the strong-smelling oils.

“He’s Lance,” Justin said, and laughed as JC seemed to be trying to place the name, brow deeply furrowed in thought. “He’s a chemist. He’s come to help make you better.” He cuddled JC a bit, squeezing him and rocking back and forth some. JC felt almost the same in his arms, yet more breakable, and frail. It hurt Justin’s heart that he couldn’t share his own body’s strength with JC.

“Mmm. Gonna sleep now,” JC said, eyes already drifting shut. Justin carefully lowered him back to the mountain of soft pillows.

“He’s so weak,” Justin said to Lance, watching over his sleeping love. He worried a hangnail on his thumb, frustrated there was nothing more he could do.

“He’s got strength. He’s got it inside, and that’s what counts more, sometimes. He’s fighting for something. He’s fighting for you, Justin.”

Justin glanced over sharply, but Lance’s eyes were kind. Justin felt a heat rise in his cheeks.

“When was the last time you ate?” Lance asked gently. Justin thought back to the meal he and Chris had shared for breakfast the day before. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and his stomach growled ravenously at the though of food.

“Come,” Lance said, gently laying a hand between Justin’s shoulder blades and guiding him out the door. “His sister can sit with him here, for a while.”

Downstairs, Justin asked for a meal, and soon they were both seated by the roaring fire in the front room with plates of meat and cheese and glasses of wine. Justin sipped and closed his eyes as the memories of summer days on the veranda floated back over him like a warm blanket. It was too cold to dine there now.

Lance ate quietly, his big eyes taking in everything around them. Justin grinned.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” he asked, and Lance blushed at being caught. He was quite attractive, Justin thought, though not in the same way that JC was handsome.

“I’ve never been in so fine a building. My parents were fishermen. We lived in a cottage, by the sea.” Lance’s deep voice rumbled through the quiet night.

Justin felt a pang of loneliness at the warmth in Lance’s tone as he spoke of family. “It sounds nice,” he said, finishing his wine in a long swallow. The bitter tang ran over his tongue smoothly. He felt very elite, suddenly, planning man of the manor.

“You and JC,” Lance asked cautiously. He was clearly unsure of how to proceed. “Have you known him for long?”

Justin bit his lip, focusing on tearing his last piece of bread into tiny pieces. There was nothing about Lance that he couldn’t trust, but he was still hesitant to tell the whole story. “We met last summer,” Justin said. “Quite by accident. He took me in when I needed help and now.” Justin smiled. “I can’t imagine my life without him.”

“It must be nice to have someone like that,” Lance said. There was a hint of jealousy in his voice, which floored Justin. Someone was jealous. Of him. He couldn’t help but smile.

“It is. He’s everything,” Justin said, and with the force of the statement, the worry returned. He tried to keep his breath even, tried desperately not to let emotion get the most of him. “If I lose him--“

“That’s not going to happen,” Lance said firmly. “He’s going to get better. I may not be a master, yet, but I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to let him die, Justin.”

Justin blinked back a tear. “I think we should go check on him.”

Lance nodded and set aside his wine to follow.

**

JC slept fitfully through the day and night. As the sun rose the next day, JC did not wake. Justin rubbed at his grainy eyes, nearly delirious himself from lack of sleep.

“He’s not getting any better,” Justin said remorsefully. Lance looked worried now, digging deeper in his bags for new potions and cures.

“It’s darkest before the dawn,” Lance promised, giving more liquid to JC. Justin prayed JC swallowed it, prayed it would work its magic and make JC well again.

Lance rested a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “Have hope,” he said. Justin nodded slowly, mind focused on JC.

JC tossed and turned under the covers, fever dreams causing him to cry out in agonies Justin could not soothe.

**

That night, JC’s skin was damp with sweat, no matter how many cool clothes Justin bathed him with. Lance retired to the guest room, with instructions to be woken if JC’s condition took a turn. Alone with JC, Justin crawled under the covers and hugged JC’s body close to his, twining their legs together. He did not care about catching the illness. His body just yearned to be as close to JC as possible.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Please, JC, don’t leave me.”

JC shivered in his arms, before stilling once again.

When Justin woke, JC was still sleeping. Happily, Justin squeezed tighter around JC’s arm before remembering. He’d woken up thinking it was just like old times. Then the days past flooded into his head. JC.

But JC’s skin was cool. Justin bolted upright, seeing Lance standing at the dresser, folding up his poultices and clothes. He was smiling brightly.

“He’s going to be OK,” Lance said, and Justin shouted for joy before he could help himself. Beside him, JC stirred.

“The fever was broken when I checked on him this morning,” Lance said in amazement. “I gave him everything I’ve learned, used every trick, but it was you who pulled him through. Don’t ever forget that, Justin.”

JC blinked his eyes open, drawing attention down to the bed. “Hi,” he said, stretching his arms in a yawn. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Days,” Justin said. “You were so sick. I thought I’d lose you.”

“Never,” JC grinned. “I’m so tired, though. And hungry.”

“I’ll bring you food.”

When he got up, Justin noticed Lance had left the room. He found him outside in the autumn sunlight, readying his horse for the ride back to town.

“Do you need to leave so soon?” Justin asked. Lance shrugged.

“My work here is done. JC will be fine, he just needs to rest for the next few days.”

“Stay,” Justin begged. “At least have some breakfast with us. To celebrate his recovery.” He’d grown fond of Lance’s quiet presence over the past few days. Another thread in the tapestry of his life, one he hope would stay bound and not fray.

“Sure,” Lance smiled, taking his belongings off of the horse’s rump. The stable boy led the horse away as the two men went back inside.

With toasts to health and happiness, the three men, and Heather, shared a meal. Justin couldn’t wipe the grin from his face, happiness bubbling from inside of him. Hurdle overcome, and now, finally, he was home.

Part Twelve: quinque (five)

JC's recovery did not pass quickly. Justin had thought that, like Chris, JC would be able to resume his daily activities after only a few days of recuperation, but it was not so. For weeks, JC idled in or near bed, stripped of his strength and energy by the viscous sickness that had almost claimed his life. He walked slowly; the exertion of climbing the stairs to their room left him breathless, gasping for air. Justin's heart pained at JC's struggles, and he spent much of his time in JC's room- their room- entertaining JC with stories of his time in town and jokes he had learned from Chris.

"Remember when we said we wanted to spend all day in bed?" Justin asked, tossing up a raisin and catching it in his mouth. He grinned widely as he chewed before offering the bowl of dried fruit to JC, who picked up just one and ate it slowly.

"Before you went away," JC smiled back at him weakly.

"Well, now we can!" Justin laughed merrily, rolling over the heavy winter blankets to a spot by JC's feet. "We can have dinner up here tonight, and bring your books up here." Grasping at JC's ankles, he jostled them in excitement "Just like we dreamed."

JC laughed and pulled Justin's face down for a kiss. His gentle palm caressed Justin's cheek, soft hair falling to tickle Justin's temples. Justin pulled back to draw in a shaky breath, hands cupping behind JC's ears.

"At least I have not lost the strength to kiss," JC murmured, a smile painted on his soft lips. Justin mimicked it, kissing him sweetly again.

"And the rest will come soon," he promised, for JC had been too weak for any kind of activity since Justin had returned.

"I love you." JC pulled him close, cuddling Justin to his chest as if Justin were the sickly one. Justin went, scampering up the bed until he could lie fully in JC's arms. Beside him, the bowl of raisins had tipped, spilling fruit across the bed. He plucked a handful and began to feed them to JC, slowly giving him back the nutrition his body needed.

**

Lance came back to check on JC a week later, arriving on the horizon with two men in tow. Justin watched them from the front window, excited at the opportunity for company. While the vineyard hibernated outside, there was little work for him to do. He'd been carefully building instruments for Chris, while JC read quietly or scratched out words on parchment that Justin still could not understand. Sometimes Justin would sing for JC, longing to hear his lover’s voice join his; it never did.

As the figures crested the hill and began to descend into JC's valley, Justin let out of whoop of joy at the recognition.

"What is it?" JC called from the front room, where he was buried under thick fur rugs to ward off the cold from the open door.

"It's Joey and Chris! They're with him." Justin hugged arms around his body to keep warm in the early winter wind. It seemed to take forever before the three horses entered the circular drive in front of JC's home. Justin leapt to take the reins so his friends could dismount.

Warm tight hugs and cheerful smiles were plentiful as Justin greeted the three men, ushering them inside for simmering mugs of tea and the hot blaze of the fire.

"Your hands are cold!" JC exclaimed when Joey pulled him into a hug, but his eyes were shining brightly with joy. Justin couldn't help but grin too, overflowing with happiness that all of his friends were now here.

"We met on the road," Lance explained, "and after traveling beside each other for a good distance, realized we were going to the same location." He knelt beside JC's chair, quickly feeling the temperature of his skin, looking carefully into his deep blue eyes. "You're not as well as I expected to find you," he said, tousling JC's messy hair. "You must get up more; move around to rebuild your strength."

"That won't be a problem," Joey declared. "For we have come with music and food. You'll provide the wine, of course," and everyone laughed, "and we'll have ourselves a true celebration."

"What are we celebrating?" Justin asked, bewildered.

"Whatever we want," Chris said. "I'm celebrating freedom from females." His lip curled in disgust. "Why anyone would want to marry a woman after living with four of them is beyond me."

Justin chuckled, curling his legs under him as he relaxed on the hard floor by JC's feet. The fire roared, warming the room and casting a cozy glow on his friends' faces. JC's hand fell to his shoulder, and Justin reached to take it in his.

**

They feasted on pork that night, loins Chris had brought from town slow-roasted over an afternoon fire. Wine flowed generously into cups, the special reserves from JC's own cellar brought up and opened for his friends. Though it was too cold for the veranda, the grand table was brought inside, dominating the great room with its length, tall chairs standing at attention on either end.

JC sat with them, the first meal he'd taken at the table since his illness, and though his shoulders often stooped with fatigue, his _expression was merry and candlelight danced in his eyes. Chris entertained them all with stories of his family, tales of living with four women since Justin had departed. It seemed they were driving him to distraction with their flitting about over men and curls.

"I've never gotten more work done," he said, "it's actually a relief to be out of their hair."

They all laughed and gave him their sympathy. Justin couldn't help but think that perhaps Chris should complain less, for though they were a burden, he had a family who loved him and that was something Justin would never claim. He scratched his head, now used to the itchy curls that grew there.

Long after the sun had set, the candles were barely-glowing pools of wax on the table. JC was slumped back in his chair, eyes closed, breathing even.

"We've worn out our host," Joey commented, nodding in the direction of his sleeping friend. "Be honest, Justin. How is he?"

"He's better today than he's been since I got back," Justin admitted, nervously drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "It's a long recovery."

Unconsciously, all eyes on the table turned to Lance, who had said little throughout the meal, still unfamiliar with the boisterous laughter of these men. He sighed when the attention fell upon him. "His illness is gone. I believe he's just afraid to do too much, that he will relapse. It's just a matter of time before he has confidence in his body again."

Justin carried JC to bed that night, lovingly dressing him in a clean night shift and cap. JC reached for him in his semi-conscious state, arms fumbling on Justin's side of the bed. Justin went.

Together they slept, limbs twined like roots of the grapevine, twisted together tightly. When Justin woke, his left foot was numb from the pressure of JC's over it. It quickly turned to needles as Justin shook it, trying to get the feeling back.

A soft kiss on his shoulder. Justin turned. JC's eyes glittered in the morning light. "Good morning," he whispered into Justin's skin. He licked out tentatively, tasting the wrinkles left by Justin's night shirt.

"How are you feeling?" Justin asked, a question as automatic now as the cycles of sun and moon.

"Better." JC flopped back to the bed. "Though I feel I'll never be as I once was."

"We should think of something to do today," Justin said, "so the others will not sleep through the sun. We could go riding." Justin longed to gallop through the vineyard again, to see the sleeping vines and further, the stately trees that governed the end of the forest. Being in town had made him feel closed in, like everything in the world was bunched too tightly together. Here, he has space to breathe.

But JC's face was a mask of discontent at the idea, quickly dashing Justin's hopes of a day out doors in the rare sunshine. "It's awfully cold," he said, fussing with the blankets that covered his feet. "We should stay indoors."

Justin wanted to argue, to say that the fresh air would help JC feel more like himself again, but the resoluteness of JC's face kept Justin silent. There would be plenty of time for riding when JC was well, much more pleasant days when the wind wouldn't whip at them so fiercely.

It took heaps of begging and cajoling to get JC up and dressed, to eat breakfast downstairs with their guests. They found Chris snoring on the rug by the fire, Lance asleep on the chaise that rested nearby. Joey had taken the other bedroom and was still snoring softy and Justin crept down the stairs.

Justin led JC to the window, where the sun shone brightly through bare tree branches. "I love you," he whispered, pulling JC's back to his stomach, wrapping his arms around JC's frail frame. "I want to be with you."

JC's hands folded over his, their fingers linking together easily. "I am too tired," JC moaned, though he leaned closer to Justin when Justin pulled, collapsing into the warmth and security of Justin's strong arms. He traced the scars on Justin's fingers, lines from too many close encounters with fire embers when he was just a child. "Have patience," he begged.

Justin kissed at JC's ear, swirling his mouth over the delicate swirls of skin. "I'll wait forever," he promised, smiling against JC's silky hair, "but I think you will soon be well again. You're stronger than you think."

JC opened his mouth to object, but a stirring behind them interrupted the moment. Chris was waking, his clothing rumpled comically from sleep, short hair spiked in every which way. He scrubbed at his eyes to remove the dust from them, yawning widely as he twisted and turned his muscles to alertness.

"Good morning," Justin called, laughing as the sound of his voice shocked Lance awake and nearly sent him crashing to the leather floor mats. "Did you sleep well?"

"Good enough," Chris said with a smile. "Though your wine has given me quite the curse this morning, JC."

JC giggles, the burst of laughter startling Justin with the sound. He hadn't heard that genuine happiness from JC in a long time. It was good, then, to have these people here. But it also sank like a stone in Justin's heart, that he couldn't cause that sound himself.

The day was spent idly, reading book and singing. Justin dragged out his new mandolin and he and Chris entertained their friends with songs. JC and Joey were persuaded to enact a fable from their days in school, sending Lance into a fit of deep resonant chuckles as he slipped out of his chair to the floor, clutching his belly. That only made the rest of them laugh even more.

They dined on bread and cheese that night, along with leftover pork strips and more wine. While Justin was away, JC had set about distributing all of the bottles that were ready to be drunk. What was left was in his private collection, and dwindling quickly. The five men drank copiously, glasses never empty for long.

"To Chasez," Chris slurred, raising a cup. "Who invites us here, to drink his wine and live like kings."

The others toasted him, JC's skin glowing red with pride. Justin had to carry him to bed again, only this time because his feet would not stop dancing.

"So much for your slow recovery," Justin teased, sliding him between the covers. JC fell bonelessly to the fluffy mattress.

"Justin," he called, pulling Justin to him. Justin tried to hold him down, but JC's arms were as slippery as river eels in his grasp. "Lay with me Justin," JC begged, smiling drunkenly.

Justin shucked off his clothes and hung them on pegs. Wearing his night shirt of warm lambs’ wool, he climbed into the bed beside JC and stared at him through sober eyes. "Only this morning you told me you were not well enough," he said. Though his body was aching for JC's touch, Justin did not want to take advantage of the wine haze in JC's eyes.

"It's a miracle cure," JC promised, hands diving under Justin's shirt to grab sloppily at his groin. Justin slid away, stopping JC's hand.

"Sleep now," he promised, "and we'll be together when you wake." He did not know what JC would feel like in the morning, but his own conscious would at least be assuaged, though his body may be denied the relief.

"You're no fun," JC pouted, hands stilling their quest into exploratory strokes on this inside of Justin's wrist. Justin lifted his arm and kissed JC's fingers.

"But you love me," he said, loving how he didn't even need to question the emotion.

"I do."

"Then sleep." Justin rested his head on the feather pillow and pulled the blankets up to his head.

**

Justin woke to soft kisses on his stomach, the stubble of JC's chin prickling his sensitive skin. He lifted his head and watched as JC licked along the lines of his abdomen. His cock was already swollen and leaking onto his hip. JC glanced up and caught his eye. The fire had gone out. The room was cold and Justin shivered, offering JC a weak grin back.

"I am still well," JC promised with an impish twinkle in his eyes that made Justin laugh lightly in response.

"I can see that," Justin said, "though I fear we may turn to icicles if we continue."

"Come down here," JC suggested, throwing the blanket over them both, so that the end of the feather-stuffed wool landed well over Justin's head. Beneath the layers, it was warm and damp, almost like a taste of summer. The grey light from the window was transformed into a ghostly pallor as it filtered through the covers.

"Better?" JC asked, his fingers dancing across Justin's stomach, every so often bumping his aching cock.

"Much." Justin smiled at JC, sliding down the bed so they were face to face for a kiss. "Good morning," he whispered, licking at the corners of JC's mouth. JC opened his lips on a sigh.

They kissed there forever, for time did seem to stop when JC's lips touched his, Justin thought.

"We have company," Justin moaned softly as JC's mouth trailed down his body, leaving a moist path on his skin. He gasped at JC's warm breath on his cock, JC's soft fingers between his legs, cupping gently.

"Let them wait," JC said mischievously. Justin nodded eagerly, forgetting all about his friends downstairs as JC's mouth descended.

**

They were greeted at breakfast with loud cheering and teasing, but Justin didn't mind the embarrassed flush that graced his cheeks.

"Jealousy," he taunted, gloriously happy that this was his life.

The three men stayed for days, wiling away the winter days with songs and stories, until their voices grew dim. Then they would play acting games, or go for short walks through the fields in the bright winter sun. Justin wished fervently that this would go on forever.

"I should return to my studies," Lance said. "Westbrook probably thinks I've fell ill myself." He'd slowly grown more outgoing in his days at the vineyard, becoming particularly close to Joseph. The two of them were often seen together chatting idly about their childhoods or long lost loves.

"And my mother is likely sick with worry, and out of food if my

"Go fetch them," JC called merrily from the kitchen, where he and Justin were fetching a snack of dried fruit from the root cellar. "Bring them back here. The solstice is coming- we'll celebrate together!"

And that was it. Chris and Justin rode off together the next morning driving JC's coach, sure to impress Chris's sisters. He'd warned them all that the girls were on the hunt for husbands, and as single men they were all in danger of wooing. Joey had laughed. "Bring them on!" he cheered, waving from the front stoop as Chris and Justin rode down the lane.

**

The grand coach rumbled over the frozen grown quickly as the sun rose higher in the sky. The forests looked so different now than on Justin's first trip to town- the trees were stripped bare, save an occasional evergreen, and he could see for miles into what was once dense underbrush. Lacy frost decorated the meadow as they crossed through its expanse. Justin and Chris fell into comfortable conversation about a new kind of viol that was becoming popular, and the hard woods they'd need to make them with any sort of durability.

From an outcropping of rocks near the vineyard, a pair of eyes watched the coach turn onto the main road and speed away from the manor house. Blowing on his hands to warm them, the man turned to his associate.

"That's him," he said curtly, picking up his gear.

"Are you sure?"

"It's him."

"Shouldn't we wait, make sure he comes back?" The smaller of the two men watched the coach retreating toward town, scrubbing his dirty hands across his scruffy chin.

"I'm freezing my nuts off here, let’s go. He'll be back."

Part Thirteen: concelebro (to celebrate a festivity)

They celebrated the holidays together, all of them lighting the Yule log and roasting winter birds over blazing kitchen fires. JC brought out his favorite red wines, and they drank until their legs would no longer support them, then fell to the floor and drank some more. They mulled wine in earthen mugs to ward off the bitter cold that had seeped upon the region, huddling close to the hearth in the great room telling stories of days past and sharing wishes for days to come. JC's sister returned, with her husband and two children, who immediately befriended Chris's youngest sister, giggling madly as they spun tarps across the leather floor mats while the grown ups chatted happily together. Justin looked around the room with such happiness that his heart could burst into a million pieces as small as the grains of sand in the desert. JC's arms were thin and bony but held him as tightly as a vice.

Still, there was a cloud on his heart, for whenever he thought of the friends he'd left behind, Trace and the pretty girl who'd done the washing, and the old man who'd taught him to make music, Justin was irreconcilably sad. He was so comfortable in his freedom, he yearned to spread it to those who'd suffered with him on the manor in far-off Espana, and likely suffered there still.

"What are you thinking?" JC whispered into his ear as they cuddled under a thick fur rug by the fire.

"Nothing." Justin turned to JC and smiled, brushing back a loose tendril of hair from JC's eyes. "This is nice."

"It is," JC promised, and kissed Justin's ear. Justin laugher, for he was quite ticklish there, squirming as JC's mouth curved against his skin.

"Come, Justin," Joey called, "It's your turn to tell us a story."

Justin blushed. "I don't know any good tales," he begged off, folding his hands over themselves again and again.

"Everyone has stories," Lance argued, his big eyes pleading for Justin to give in. "Come, now. Let us in on one of your grand adventures."

So Justin began with the story of the day he'd decided to run, the moment when he knew that if he stayed on the manor he would surely die. It was better, he'd known then, to die valiantly while trying to run that to die in misery as he had lived his life. Though slaves were not taught by the traditional means, Justin knew the meaning of valor and honor, and knew that as a slave he would never rise to such lofty standards. He told them of the elephant man who'd come to visit, bringing terrible beasts to the nearby village and showing them for a fee. Justin had learned from one of his trainers, a man who'd once been slave himself in far-off Rome, that there was a place he could go where there was no such thing as slave or free, only the expectation that each man would live purely and respect all others. He'd stood by his master's wagon and listened as the tall dark man told him how to find this place, watching the man pour buckets of water over the wrinkly back of the elephant to wash the travel dust from its back.

"You've seen an elephant?" one of Heather's children asked, and Justin nodded with a smile.

"It was so huge," he said, holding his hands high above his head, "taller than two of me and many times as wide. It's nose was like an arm, and it could curl it up to hold objects or scoop food into its mouth," Justin said. The three children abandoned their game and came to sit at Justin's feet, captivated by his tale.

He continued with his story, thinking back to the days when he was so afraid of what he was planning, scared to even look at people for they may be able to read his thoughts through his expression. When he told of how he'd run, how he'd escaped in the night, Lance's eyes went wide in wonder. Justin did not look at them, for they made him uncomfortable. His friends faces were those of an admiring public, but Justin was not worthy of such devotions. All he had done was survive.

When he told them of the river and its guards, Joey groaned audibly, so enthralled in the story that he seemed to forget that he already knew the ending. There were smiles on the ladies faces when Justin told of JC's kindness, carefully not looking at his love's face for he knew if he saw the blush there, he would be unable to stop himself from interrupting the story to extol JC's virtues and kind persona, and those in the room surely did not need to hear the list recited again. All who were present there knew the kindness that dwelled in the master of Chasez Vineyard.

"Well," Chris said, when the tale was through, "I do not know why you think you're not a good story teller. You're life's a lot more interesting than mine."

"And mine," Joey echoed. Lance nodded in agreement. Only Heather's husband said nothing. He'd been a soldier with JC's brother, and had likely seen more carnage and despair than Justin could ever have imagined, no matter how vile his life may have been before he escaped.

"It's not always good to be interesting," Justin said, wrapping a hand around JC's fingers. They curled around Justin's palm tightly. "Sometimes, it's just better to be loved."

At that, the soldier nodded. JC tipped his head onto Justin's shoulder.

"Come," Chris said, "let us sing. I'm in the mood for a battle song!" At once, Joey's booming voice began, carrying the tune across the fire to Justin's ears. He joined in loudly as Joey sang the epic tale of old Senataus and his army that never won.

**

At night, Justin and JC retired to their room- for it was Justin’s room now, too, judging by the hooks JC had added for Justin’s clothes.

“Did you have a good time at the celebration?” JC asked, nuzzling his nose in Justin’s fuzzy hair. Justin laughed and leaned back into JC’s embrace.

“I did. It was the first I’ve been to, besides Harvest. It was fun.” They’d had many different holidays- Christmas, Saturnalia, the solstice, but somehow, they’d managed to observe them all together with good times and good company.

JC’s arms worked under the folds of Justin’s tunic. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he whispered, tugging at the belted rope on Justin’s waist. Justin smiled broadly.

“So are you.” He turned in JC’s arms, working at the cord on JC’s own clothes. JC kissed him lightly, tipping Justin’s face up into the light.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered reverently. “Have I told you that I missed you while you were gone?”

“I missed you too,” Justin whispered. “I sleep terribly when you are not next to me.” He mouthed the short whiskers on JC’s chin. “Your face haunts my dreams.”

JC tipped his head backward gracefully, opening his neck for Justin to kiss and caress with him lips. JC’s breath came in ragged gasps, his hands falling to Justin’s hips to tug their bodies closer together.

“You have not let me make love to you since I returned,” Justin begged. “May I?”

“Yes, oh, please.” JC’s lips returned to his, chapped from breathing through his mouth. Justin wet them with his tongue, smoothing over the rough ridges until their mouths moved slickly together. He could taste sweet wine on JC’s tongue, delicious.

Justin stepped back, smiling easily at JC’s groan of disappointment. He pulled his tunic over his head in one swift movement, then tugged at the fabric of JC’s over shirt. They laughed together when it got stuck on JC’s head, but the giggles slowly faded when JC’s head finally popped free, his hair flying every which way.

“You’re a mess,” Justin laughed, soothing the fly-away strands.

“You love me anyway,” JC challenged. He slipped a hand into Justin’s woolen trousers, teasing lightly with his fingers. Justin’s eyes fluttered closed in pleasure as blood rushed to his cock.

Despite the heat between them, the room was chilled, and Justin couldn’t help but shiver as JC’s hand moved up and down his length. Though it pained him, Justin slowly drew back, taking JC’s free hand and leading him to the bed, where they buried beneath layers of warm furs.

“Better?” JC asked. Justin nodded happily, warmth already seeping into his toes. He kicked off his thick leggings, leaving himself bare under JC’s roving hands. JC’s face lit with excitement.

Justin used oil from the vase on JC’s bedside table to wet his fingers, rubbing them together briskly to warm them. JC’s hungry kisses nearly drove him to distraction as he lubricated first one, then two fingers.

“Baby, I’m never going to get any further if you keep that up,” Justin gasped when JC’s teeth sank down on a tender nipple. JC grinned up at him and tugged lightly, making Justin’s breathing halt completely.

Rolling JC beneath him, Justin used one careful to push past the rim, into the depths of JC’s body. JC’s legs spread wantonly, his hands settled on Justin’s shoulder where they flexed each time Justin stroked first one, then two fingers upward. Justin’s cock ached for relief, but he forced himself to stretch out the preparations so JC would not hurt.

“Enough,” JC finally begged, taking Justin’s wrist and pulling it away. “Come on, now.” He held Justin’s body tightly as Justin pressed slowly inside, stopping when the head of his cock was just buried, breathing in closely to JC’s chest. When JC’s breath even beneath him, Justin pushed in further, only to have JC gasping for air again beneath him. Justin kissed him, breathing air into JC’s mouth as he plunged as deeply as possible.

They moved together, JC’s hands tugging on his own cock as Justin thrust into him. Justin touched JC’s burning cock, hotter than his skin had been during the worst of the fever, helping JC to bring himself off. He slowed his movements as JC came, waiting for JC’s sensations to cease before swiping a finger through the sticky white pool on JC’s chest. He licked it carefully, taking in the bittersweet flavor before thrusting again and coming quickly, shuddering from shoulders to knees as he pulsed into JC’s body.

**

In the morning, the aftermath of celebrations needed to be dealt with. JC set about gathering the empty crocks of wine, stacking them on the veranda where they would sit until the pouring of new wines in spring. The furniture was set back in its proper place, and goodbyes were said to Heather’s family and Chris’s.

“You’ll send me your work in a months time,” Chris warned, “or I’ll have to come back and drink more of your wine when I pick them up.”

Justin laughed heartily and hugged Chris, patting his back. “You’ll have them if I have to deliver them myself,” he promised. “Take care of your ladies.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “If I don’t kill them.”

Lance rode back to town with Chris, enjoying the opulence of JC’s coach. Joey would stay with them for a few days more before going to visit his own parents for the remainder of the winter season.

“My mother, she misses having children to care for, and my sister’s grandchildren are spoiled rotten.” Joey made a face.

JC laughed. “Tell the truth. He has a girl there,” JC confided in Justin. Justin laughed.

“Then you should go,” Justin said.

“You just want to be alone,” Joey said, but his eyes were sparkling.

They spent the day talking over the future, planning for Joey’s return in the springtime. The smells of the previous days dinner still clung in the air, the sweetness of glazed ham and the spice of porridges. The day was lit with bright sunshine, so the drapes were held back on their gold cords to let it the warm glow from outside. Dust danced in the air as the fire burned lowly in the hearth.

“Show me more writing,” Justin begged, as JC took out his ledger books to mark the weather for the day. He was worried about having missed the weeks from his illness, for he counted on his reports of the weather to predict the blooming in the spring.

JC handed him a quill and poured a pool of into a curved seashell. “What do you want to write.”

“Show me the letters for ‘I Love You’.” Justin fumbled the delicate quill in his fingers before getting a good grip on them. Joey laughed softly from the corner, where he carved a piece of wood into a pretty figurine, likely for his lady.

JC nudged Justin’s elbow. “Pay attention,” he urged. He scratched out the words. Justin licked his lips as JC turned the paper back to him so he could replicate the letters.

His figures were much bigger than JC’s, though much more even than when he’d first started. He smiled when JC nodded at his progress, and kept at it.

“There,” he said, turning the page back to JC. “I love you seventeen times.”

JC laughed. “Is that all?”

“It’s all I can fit on the page,” he said. “But I could write it on ever piece of paper on earth and in the heavens, and still it wouldn’t be enough.”

JC kissed him lightly. “You’re sweet,” he said. “I love you too.”

Justin stood and stretched. “Joey has fallen asleep,” he said, nodding in the direction of his friend, who’d slumped in his chair.

“He’d likely drop his knife and cut off his cock,” JC said, but he went to his friend and took the blade from his limp hand, laying it on the table.

“We must not have been very entertaining, if he nodded off like that.” Justin took JC’s hand in his, slowing pulling him across the room to the hall. “But if he’s going to sleep, I think we could find something to do until he wakes.”

JC grinned mischievously. “I’ll race you upstairs,” he challenged, darting off up the narrow stone steps paces ahead of Justin.

Life was perfect, Justin grinned, as JC's skin grazed against his and his heart swelled with more love than he'd ever thought he could have. Freedom had ben worth everything.


	2. Follow

Part One: praetereo (gone)

JC stood at the window and pressed two fingers against the glass. His hands were so thin now, nothing at all like the strong ones that had tamed the wild vines and written sonnets of love and beauty. The illness had done that to him, stripped him of his ability to do much more than simply watch the world go by. Justin didn’t understand how weak his knees felt at the notion of mounting a horse, the fear that wretched in his belly when he thought about fever dreams and demons that had plagued him through the late autumn months.

Justin had been there for the worst of it, but he hadn’t had the sickness in his own body. JC was afraid that it would return, or worse, that it was only hibernating inside of him, to return some day when he least expected it. “Hey,” Justin’s voice whispered in his ear, and suddenly there was a warm body to lean back against. JC settled into Justin’s embrace. “Are you thinking about the pruning?”

Sure enough, the vineyard was outside the window, but JC was not focused on his plants or the upcoming pruning season. Instead, his attention had been wandering to the sky, where clouds didn’t even venture, for fear of being frozen in the cold snap that had settled over the valley.

“I’m thinking about you,” JC lied, because it always brought a smile to Justin’s face, and no matter how difficult it may have been to watch Justin’s strong body run through the fields over the past few months, JC still loved Justin with all of his heart and soul. The perfect mate that had been dropped into his cabin like a gift from the heavens nine months before.

Justin kissed the soft skin below his ear, tickling JC with his lips. JC smiled despite himself. He could never remain in a foul mood for long when Justin was around, lavishing him with attention and kisses.

“Shall we play a game?” Justin asked, drawing JC away from the window. He went willingly, for it hurt to look at his vineyard and worry he would never again have the strength to maintain it.

They played a game of skill with colored wooden pieces for the remainder of the afternoon. JC won, but Justin was getting better, and he laughed each time he scored a point with such surprise and pride that JC had to laugh to.

Without Justin, his winter would have been akin to a season in a tomb.

**

“Come with me,” Justin begged as he loaded the wagon. From the doorway, JC shook his head. With the cold spell finally passed into more tolerable weather, Justin was making a trip to town. The wagon that JC used to deliver lunch to his workers during the summer was loaded with musical instruments and covered with a tarp.

“Please,” Justin asked again, but JC still declined. He did not want to aggravate his condition, and there was work to be done. He needed to write to some of his wine distributors, for the Merlot they had bottled during the winter was the finest ever. He would raise the price of the bottles in hopes of attracting more wealthy customers. He also needed to arrange his customary shipment to the palace, the gift he presented annually that was more of a bribe to leave his vineyard and workers in peace.

Justin pouted, until JC kissed him goodbye. When he was gone JC retreated into the great room, where leafs of parchment sat waiting for his hand.

Without Justin, the house was empty and hollow. It was too quiet, too big, and too barren. Frustrated that he could not focus on his work, JC turned to the marimba in the corner.

The first note echoed so loudly that JC nearly dropped the mallet in fright. Laughing at his own foolishness, he picked up the wooded stick and struck the keys again. He could not play like Justin did, with two sticks in each hand to create harmonizing chords, but with a mallet in each fist, JC began to pick out a tune. It was lonely and fast, an erotic number inspired by the image of Justin’s body stretched out, a most sacred offering for JC to worship as he pleased.

By the time Justin returned home in the cloak of night, JC had forgone dinner and spent hours lost in the world of the song. There were words now, and a counter melody that he couldn’t play all at the same time, but perhaps if someone else were there to help him…

Two hands picked up the unused mallets, chiming in as JC played. He smiled at the completion of the sound, because yes, that was what it was meant to be. Justin stood beside him, wordlessly picking out the tune JC had been singing.

When it was done, it was a flourish, and JC’s arms fell to his sides in sheer exhaustion. Justin laid his mallets carefully across the keys, creating light plunking noises before taking JC’s away as well.

“That was beautiful,” he said, not looking at JC. When his eyes did rise, they were full of love and lust. JC nodded weakly, for he knew the beauty of his creation. “I have never heard anything like that before.”

Indeed it was a different sort of song from the war ballads that Chris sang, or even the lighthearted story tales that Justin sometimes offered. It was a story of love to the ultimate degree.

“Sing it for me,” Justin begged. But JC looked at the instrument and suddenly could not remember the words.

“No,” Justin said, taking his hands and leading JC to the furry rugs by the fireplace. The flames had burned out, leaving only glowing embers to light the room. Justin was a mass of willowy shadows. “Sing it for me.”

He placed JC’s hands on his heart, and JC could feel the thumping under his palm. He rooted his fingers through the ties at the neck of Justin’s shirt until they were skin to skin and it felt like Justin’s blood was beating right into his own body.

The words returned and he began to sing as Justin’s lips touched his throat. Justin’s hands removed their clothing as JC continued his song, until Justin was deep inside of him and the words no longer needed to be sung to be understood.

**

“Come with me,” Justin begged again a month later, but JC still shook his head. It had been too long, too many days since he’d ridden in a wagon to make such a long trip. Perhaps a short journey, he told himself, but not the long ride into the village. Though he longed to visit with Chris, and Lance, and he’d heard tale that Joey was still in the region, his body still quaked for fear that he would not have the strength to make the long trip there and back.

When JC continued to refuse his pleas, Justin grew cold. “I don’t understand you. There’s nothing wrong with your body now- you’re as strong as you ever were.” But JC shook his head. He knew, he could feel inside that things were not right.

Justin stepped back to the house and kissed JC’s hands, holding them over his lips. “You do not believe me, but I tell you that it is true. I have felt your hands around my body, your legs around my waist. You are strong,” Justin said earnestly. And JC almost believed him.

In the end, Justin left in a huff, angry for JC had shouted at him that he did not believe in JC’s affliction, accusing Justin of being unsympathetic when JC knew it was untrue, but fear made him angry, and Justin was there to take it out on. He immediately regretted his words. As Justin’s wagon was still visible down the lane, JC began to make preparations for a celebratory return dinner.

Dusk fell, and JC lit candles and lamps so he could keep working, writing furiously a song of love praising the brave captive who had so much goodness to give the world that he’d risked life and limb to run away and spread his talents with all men. JC smiled at the verse about Justin’s curly hair, a halo that had been shorn by his captors but reemerged with the wings of freedom that had grown on his back.

It was his best work ever, and JC copied it over dutifully in a careful block print so that Justin might be able to read it on his own someday.

The wine was poured as the stars came out, and dinner was carefully arranged on the table in the great room. JC sat waiting, every moment perfect for an apology and a reaffirmation of his love for Justin of Timberlake.

But Justin didn’t come home that night.

**

JC awoke to curious looks from his housekeeper. The table was coated in river of waxes that had formed as the candles burned down through the night. The dinner was spoiled, flies buzzing around the untouched roast. On his desk, the two copies of his poem still sat unread by all but the ghosts of the night.

Rubbing the crick in his neck that had grown from sleeping on the divan all night long, JC climbed the stairs to the master bedroom, expecting to find Justin there, pouting that JC had fallen asleep before he’d come in, perhaps with some stories to tell about what had kept him late in the village. But the linens in the bed were freshly smoothed, and there was no sign of Justin’s boots or garments in the nook where they kept their clothing. Outside, there was no snow or other inclement weather that would have prevented travel.

A deep fear twisted in JC’s gut. Justin must have been angrier that he’d originally thought, to stay out all night long. They’d never slept apart willingly in all the time they’d been together. Even when JC raged with fevers, Justin had crawled beneath the blankets beside him.

“What have I done?” JC thought, paralyzed with the thought that Justin might never return. “I’ve driven him away.”

Panicking at the notion, JC sent word with the stable boy to town, a letter addressed to Chris, where Justin was most likely staying. An apology, and a begging request to come home so that JC might extend the same sentiments in person. His stomach ached for Justin the way a starving man pains for just a morsel of food.

All day he paced the windows, nervously awaiting the reply. It was late afternoon when two horses appeared on the horizon, and JC ran into the drive to meet them, forgetting his fear of the bitter cold in anxious anticipation of Justin’s return. Already, his nerves were calming as they horses drew nearer, until he could make out more than just the silhouettes of the riders.

But something was drastically wrong, because yes, there was the stable boy, but the other man was not Justin. He was too short, without the bush of curly hair. It was Chris, and JC’s face fell in disappointment, and even a bit of anger that Justin would be so brash as to send an emissary to speak on his behalf.

He welcomed Chris into the home, and left the boy to tend the horses.

“We have a problem,” Chris said, and there was a degree of alarm in his voice that made JC incredibly uneasy. They did not sit, and Chris did not shed his outer clothes as he spoke. “Justin did not arrive yesterday as he had planned. I thought there was merely a delay, but your boy seemed to think that Justin was with me. I did not read your letter,” he said, handing the paper back to JC with the wax seal still in tact, “but thought I should let you know that Justin was not there.”

A chill ran through JC’s bones, making him shiver with apprehension. “He left yesterday morning, with the wagon.”

“Perhaps he stopped to see Lance?” Chris asked. “He could have been visiting and that is why he has not been to me yet.” But it was a weak argument- there was no reason for Justin to have carried a shipment of instruments with him if he was going past Chris’ shop to reach Lance.

“Come back to town with me,” Chris said, “and we’ll figure this out. You can stay the night in the back room- my sisters can bunk together.”

But JC balked at the idea of riding in the night, when highwaymen were always a threat, in addition to his own health. He convinced Chris to say with him at the vineyard until first light, when they would travel to town together.

JC’s last thought before going to sleep was that if this were some ploy by Justin to get him out of the house, he would never speak to the boy again.

Morning dawned in with a hazy sky, clouds bearing down upon the earth like an oppressive blanket of doom. JC insisted that they take the coach, still fearful of the perils that riding in the open air might bring upon him. Chris looked leery but acquiesced at last, and they were off.

The ride was silent and foreboding. Neither of them truly believed that they would find Justin safely at Lance's home. JC cursed himself for letting Justin ride alone, and for angering him so that perhaps, he would be distracted enough to become easy pray for robbers on the road. Beside him on the bench, JC could tell Chris was harboring similar thoughts.

JC prayed that Justin would be found safely. And if he thought JC was angry before, JC smirked at the exponential growth of his fury for the worry that Justin had caused.

“We’ll find him,” Chris kept saying confidently. “And he’d better have a good reason for being late with my shipment.

They reached the town, and Chris’ family confirmed that Justin had not been by. With fear in their hearts, they continued on to the boarding house where Lance was lodged.

The young apothecary was out, so they dined in the tiny pub below while they were waiting. JC had not spent time alone with Chris before, but found him to be a witty and humorous man. It was no surprise that he and Justin got along so well with each other. JC could see bits of Justin’s sarcasm in Chris’s tales, and for a moment, he was comforted at having that small piece of his love back again. Otherwise, Chris was a cynical man prone to the drink, and fascinated with the worldly tales that JC told of travel and the marvels that he had seen. The man has a lust for fortune, JC thought, and made it a goal to see that one day, Chris would be as wealthy as his heart contented.

Lance returned in the early afternoon, his shirt stained with blood. The site fluttered JC’s senses, making him dizzy with fear that, for a moment, it might be Lance’s own.

It wasn’t, and after greeting his friends with happy surprise, Lance excused himself to wash and clean. He returned fresh and smiling.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you,” he said, and turned his attention directly to JC, examining his former patient critically. “You haven’t been outside enough,” he said. “Your color is pale, and the gods of the sun will be angry soon if they don’t see more of your face.”

JC smiled weekly. “Have you seen Justin?”

Lance shook his head, and the faces of the other men fell in disappointment. “He’s not with you, then?”

“We don’t know where here is,” Chris explained. “He never showed up with a shipment yesterday. At first, I thought he’d fallen asleep under a tree, but unless this is the longest nap in the world, he should have awoken and rolled into town by now.”

JC didn’t say a word about their argument, and only nodded along with Chris’s story. But Lance could offer no information and his theories and questions only compounded JC’s worries.

“What if he left?” JC asked, fearing the worst. He’d worried for a long time that there was no more than a sense of duty keeping Justin with him. He was sure of Justin’s love, but there was so much in the world the boy had not seen. Perhaps he had never intended to settle in the first place that he'd found when finally free. Maybe JC’s anger had been the catalyst that he needed to send him on, seeking further adventures in the great world.

Lance offered to ride back with them and help to search, so the three men piled into the coach and set off in mid-afternoon. At Chris’ home they loaded the cargo bins with torches and provisions, and set off back toward the vineyard.

JC was staring into the deep trees, thankful that the trip was a simple one without any perilous mountains or cliffs that Justin could fall from. If he’d daydreamed and gotten lost, the worst that would happen is he would wander in the forest for days before reemerging at someone’s farm and sheepishly admit his blunder.

“Stop!” Chris yelled, and the coach came to such a halt that all three men tumbled out of their seats. Chris scrambled for the door and tumbled out, the other two men close at his heels.

There, in the waning twilight at the end of the evergreen forest, was a lump shoved so deeply into the branches that it was scarcely visible from the road. It was a miracle that Chris had seen it at all, and JC held his breath, for he knew what it was.

The wagon.

**

If it were highwaymen, there would have been something missing. But what kind of thief would leave all of the valuable merchandise behind, hidden in the trees?

“I won’t believe that he’s been fooling us all,” said Chris, shaking his head at the abandoned treasure trove. “I’m not going to believe it.” The idea that Justin had spent the past months pulling one great swindle had flashed through JC’s mind, but like Chris, the thought was too abhorrent to even entertain. Lance too was shaking his head.

“But why would he leave all of his stuff here? It’s almost like he was trying to hide it, to keep it from being found?” Lance picked at the pine branches draped gracefully over the back of the wagon. Around them it was getting dark, night creeping in from all sides.

“Maybe he’s hurt,” JC said, and began to call. They spread in every direction, yelling for Justin and then waiting the heavy seconds for a reply. It never came.

When his voice was nothing more than a whisper, he finally gave up. His throat was dry and sore from screaming, but it hurt no more than his heart ached every time that Justin didn’t answer.

They took the wagon back to the vineyard and fell fitfully into sleep. JC dreamed that Justin was calling for him in the dark and he couldn’t find him no matter how far he searched.

In the morning they went back to the forest, but there was nothing to find. The ground was still too frozen for any hoof prints to leave a trail. It was as if Justin had simply vanished into thin air.

Frustrated, they continued to search for the rest of the day, venturing throughout the entire forest. JC still tried to pretend that Justin was lost, but the perfectly in tact wagon led him to other conclusions. His body ached with the strain of the suddenly vigorous activity, but he would not let it wear him down.

“Perhaps we should return to the vineyard,” Lance finally suggested. They’d been over the area so many times that JC had begun to memorize the swirls of bark on the trees. “Maybe he’ll come back there.”

Reluctantly, JC went with them, sitting quietly in the back of the coach for the ride. When they finally returned, the journey seemed so much longer than it ever had before. His shoulders sagged in defeat. When Lance reached over and rubbed carefully, JC felt his body melt into the soothing touch.

“We’ll find him,” Lance promised. “And then we’ll laugh about how worried we’ve been.”

“I told him to go,” JC whispered, ashamed at his own quick temper and the trouble it had caused. “I was angry with him. He only wanted me to be with him and I yelled at him. What if he did?”

“Sssssh,” Lance soothing, pulling JC’s head down to his shoulder. JC’s eyes were leaking against the rough fabric of Lance’s cloak. His heart was breaking.

The torches were lit in the manor house when they returned. JC climbed down from the coach, the pull of the earth heavy on his limbs. Chris’ arm wrapped around his back, Lance’s shoulder against his on the other side. Together, they walked into the house, and JC felt strength from his friends pouring into his own body.

For a moment, he considered opening a jug of wine to take away the ache of the day, but his eyes refused to stay open. He thought for a moment that he was being a poor host, but neither Lance nor Chris seemed awake enough to even notice.

JC wondered how long they could search that same parcel of land, and where they would look next. He would not rest, that was for certain, until Justin was found.

**

The furious pounding of hoof beats on the trail awakened them in the morning. JC wandered into the hall and right through the guest bedroom to the front-facing windows. A rider flew down the path, and his heart leaped that it might be Justin.

Instead, he was surprised to see Joey’s family crest blazing on the saddle blanket.

“Why is there so much noise before dawn?” Chris mumbled from his cocoon of blankets.

“Joey is here,” JC said, and hurried back to his room to dress.

Downstairs, Joey met them in the great room, where Lance had woken from his sleep on the settee.

“Where is Justin?” Joey asked. No one knew how to answer. It was good thing, then, that Joey wasn’t waiting. “I heard just yesterday. Two bounty hunters are traveling illegally. They’re looking for someone who fits Justin’s description. I got here as fast as I could to warn him.”

JC’s knees went weak, and if Chris hadn’t been there to grab his arm, he surely would have fallen to the floor. The room seemed to spin around him like a whirlpool, colors bleeding together as his friends’ faces blurred. Justin, bounty hunters. They had him.

Joey had figured out what was going on by now, and his mouth hung open with unspoken questions. JC felt Chris easing him down to a chair, but it was as if the world was moving through a cloud. Images swam through his head of Justin in iron shackles, back on the manor being whipped. His own body was suddenly racked with pain when he thought of it.

Without even thinking of what he was doing, JC went to the storage bins in the corner and began to withdraw its contents- rope, and torches, along with numerous other items. His three friends stood staring curiously.

“JC?” Joey asked, approaching him cautiously. JC felt the hand on his arm, but only kept working.

“I’m going to need warm clothes,” JC said. “I have to get some from upstairs, and some boots. The fur-lined ones.”

“What are you doing, JC?”

JC turned to look at Joey, wondering what kind of fool had fallen into his best friend. He was doing the only thing he could. “I’m going to get him back.”

“You don’t even know where he went,” Chris said, taking one step closer, holding out his hands helplessly. “How will you know where to go?”

“To the south,” JC said. “To Timber Lake, then over the mountains. I’ll ask, I’ll find him.” Determined, JC stood and brushed the dirt off of his knees. “I have to find him,” he reiterated firmly.

Lance stood from the sofa. “I’ll go with you.”

Joey glanced back and forth between the two of them nervously. “I never said I wouldn’t go.”

Chris shrugged. “Well, I’m in too, then.”

The four men stood in the room and between them, the air was charged with lightening fast energy. JC watched his friends shuffle nervously, waiting for someone to make the first move.

He glanced to the doorway, where the housekeeper stood, hands worrying in her white cotton apron. JC caught her eye and offered her a small, confident smile. “Could you please pack us some provisions?” he asked. “Things that will keep, for we may be gone for a while.”

To the others, he offered a hard look, full of determination. “We leave in an hour. I’ll have the boy saddle the horses.”

**

Part Two: adsequor (to follow)

Every bit of his body ached, and the wind whipped around him as if it too was conspiring to send JC tumbling to the muddy ground. The winter thaw had temporarily broken, showering them with frigid raindrops overnight and leaving them a mucky trail to follow as they hunted, day in and day out.

Lance knew the people to ask, and once they had crossed the river back into the region of Timber Lake, he quickly sifted out the information they needed to follow the right road. For all of his good intentions not to press Justin to talk about his past, JC now cursed himself for not learning more about where Justin came from. All he had to go on was the adventure tale that Justin had told to the children months ago as they celebrated the Yule.

It was hopeless in every sense of the word, and sometimes JC swore they were only still moving because none of them wanted to say it first.

After a long winter inside, JC had grown soft and unused to hard labor. The days on the horse left him saddle-sore and bow-legged. Lance rubbed a salve into his swollen backside as they huddled in the candlelight under Joey’s wide muslin tent. They cared for him like brothers, since JC’s mind was so focused on Justin that he could never quite remember to do the more mundane tasks.

They headed into the mountains against the advice of every guide in the area, alone because no one would lead them. The pass was deeply trenched in snow, and they had to abandon the horses and continue on foot, wading through drifts that rose to Chris’ waist. Chris never complained, and often entertained them with his songs. He couldn’t sing Justin’s tunes- after the first attempt, JC had been wracked so bitterly with sobs that he’d begun to hyperventilate and nearly fallen into a ravine.

That was their journey, day in and day out. JC only hoped that it was going to lead to something besides heartache.

**

They spent nearly a month in the mountains, holed up in a cave when the weather got too severe. JC could see the worry on the three faces around him, worry about Justin, and about himself, that he was becoming so withdrawn as the time passed without Justin at his side. He couldn’t help it- there just seemed to be no words to say. Huddled under a bearskin rug, JC would curl against Joey’s side for warmth, watching the curls of smoke make their way up into the night, and pray to every god he knew that Justin was still alive, waiting for him, fighting his way back to JC.

When they could move again, JC’s legs quivered on the rocky trails that led down into the meadows. Spring thaws sent the water rushing down over the rocks, the rushing waterfalls drowning out all of the other noise. They came to a fork near the meadow’s end, and JC fell to the ground where the trail divided.

“Which way?” he asked, helplessly, staring at the sky for guidance. The three men formed a wall behind him as JC’s cries filled the still air. “Which way? Which way? Which way?”

“We’ll camp here,” Joey said, and they all seemed to agree that putting off the decision until the morning was a good thing. JC stayed at the fork until the pebbles began to press painfully into his knees, and he wandered off in search of dry wood they could light for a fire.

The branches were scarce in this region, for it was a popular spot for travelers to rest after coming out of the mountains. JC had to venture far down the left hand trail to find enough wood to carry them through the night. He tied small bundles together so they could be easily carried and left them beside the road to be picked up on the way back.

With the sun setting, he finished his last bunch and decided to relieve himself before returning to camp. He tucked his tunic up into his belt and leaned forward against the tree as he pissed. His head bowed against the bark, and he wrapped his hand around the tree as he finished and shook himself dry.

The back of the tree was strangely smooth, and he stepped around to see why.

Someone had carved into the bark, shaky letters that JC recognized immediately.

I LOVE YOU  
I LOVE YOU  
I LOVE YOU

Once again, JC found himself on his knees, face planted just below the words on the tree.

Justin.

**

The sign gave them direction, and it gave them hope. With it, the four men pressed on, knowing that the object of their quest was not only alive, but expecting them to follow.

“He’s just that cocky,” Chris said. “He knew we’d drop everything and come running for him.”

Lance rolled his eyes as Joey laughed, but JC could only smile. He’d known Justin before, when he was shaky every minute the sun rose, always looking over his shoulder. He thought for a moment how the character of a man was shaped by those around him, how the most delicate apple flower could produce the seeds to a might tree if only given the proper circumstances and care.

Chris began singing again, a song about the Roman road that ran around in circles. Sometimes Joey would chime in about the foolish travelers who’d wander the path never realizing they were going nowhere.

“The Visigoth, he came to late, to see the setting sun. So in the dark, he asked the way, and his journey begun. He came upon the town again, riding in at first light. And they sent him back on the Roman road, turning left instead of right.”

“But wouldn’t that bring him back again?” JC asked, as it was his role in this song.

“Yup! Cause it was the curious round Roman road, that led back to where it started…”

The singing helped to pass the time as they passed through trees. JC was getting a crick in his neck from turning around in the saddle, watching the front and backs of all the trees to make sure that there were no further messages. They were approaching Espana now, and he was terrified for Justin as he saw the slave wagons wheeling by. The hopelessness that was cast across the eyes of the captives clawed at JC’s soul.

“If we find him,” he vowed, and Lance was quick to correct him.

“When we find him.”

JC shot him a smile of gratitude, for his positive attitude and level-headed planning had kept them on track through much of the journey. He was truly a kindred friend. “When we find him, I’m going to stop this. As much as I can.”

“Stop what?” Joey asked, falling into step beside JC. They walked four abreast across the road, for there was little other traffic on this route that day.

“The slavery. I don’t know, I’ll buy up everyone I can,” JC said, “I’ll sell the vineyard to the prince’s men and spend every dime I have buying men here and setting them free.”

Joey smiled at him warmly, and JC felt accomplished, like he once again had a purpose. But Chris laid a warning hand on his forearm. “That’s treasonous talk here,” he warned. “You should probably keep those ideas to yourself.” But he winked in support, and his eyes twinkled in excitement.

Glad to have made some success, if only in his mind, JC continued stepping one foot in front of the other along the long and narrow road.

**

The first town that they entered in Espana was a strange entity to JC. Though he had traveled extensively with his family while learning the business and meeting vendors, he had never been this far to the south. This was dangerous, thieving territory, where you had to always watch your back, for knives flew freely and often caught innocents in their path. The four men walked more closely together, subconsciously closing any gaps that would have let dangers sweep through their line.

They checked into a quaint lodge for the evening, a two-story building set against one of the rolling foothills. From their second-floor window, JC could see the whole of the plain stretch before him. Large moving shadows swept over the grasses from the clouds above, where late-winter sunshine bathed them all in warmness.

While Joey and JC rested, Chris and Lance set forth to find information. JC was confident that Justin had passed through this land, but he had no idea how far ahead of them the bounty-hunters had passed. If they had missed the storm in the mountains, they would be weeks ahead, and perhaps no one would remember them.

“Get some rest,” Joey ordered, pushing JC’s shoulders until he stretched out on the bed. JC’s face itched on the rough sheets, and he missed the luxury of his own home. He’d never considered himself a glutton for fine things before, but the month on the road had shown him how much he had taken for granted. It was no wonder that Justin had walked around with that dreamy look on his face for the first months that he was with JC- how grand everything must have seemed.

The room they were renting had only one bed, so Joey rested beside JC, their arms touching where the mattress dipped in the middle. Though the sun still shown brightly outside, JC wrapped himself in one of the heavy woolen blankets and closed his eyes tightly.

In his mind, he could still see Justin has he had last been, the light curls on his head catching sparkling moonbeams in JC’s bed. They’d made love so tenderly the night before Justin had left, and then JC had spoken so harshly to Justin in the moments before he left.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed to no one in particular, with hopes that perhaps one of the gods would deliver the message to Justin. “I’m sorry, but I’m coming. Be strong.”

**

Darkness wrapped around the world later each day, and JC was surprised that the sky was only a pinkish-lavender when he awoke to the sounds of knocking on the door. Chris and Lance had returned.

“They came this way,” Lance said, taking off his boots and stretching his cramped toes on the wooden floorboards. As he spoke, he bounced on the balls of his feet and stretched his arms, working out the kinks of a long day on the road. “About two weeks ago. They were trading a group of slaves, but the auctioneer distinctly remembers one who they would not sell. It sounds like Justin.”

Chris sat on the bed with Joey and JC, dipping the corner of the mattress dangerously low. He took JC’s hand in between his own in comfort. “JC,” he began calmly, though his lip was quivering a bit as he spoke. “They said he was not in good shape. He had been beaten.”

JC gnawed on his own lip as pain seared through him as painfully as if the whip had fallen across his own skin. “But he was alive.” Justin was strong, he thought, in mind and body. He would not be broken, though JC wished that the theory had never needed to be tested.

“They were moving east, to the sea. Did Justin ever say anything to you about living on the coast?” Lance asked. He joined the other men on the bed, listening as the rope supports creaked ominously beneath them. For a moment JC thought they might fall, but the bed held.

He tried to think of anything Justin might have mentioned about the sea, but nothing came to mind. He had all of their conversations imprinted in his memory, and there was clearly nothing about a port town. “No. He didn’t live by the water. A manor farm,” he said. “Harvest vegetables and grains, some animals. And his owner’s name was Luis.” JC spat the name, for it was as evil to him as any curse.

Lance nodded and shared a look with Chris and Joey. JC knew they were not telling him everything, that they were keeping something from him, to protect him.

“What?”

“There’s a chance they were taking him to the coast to ship off,” Chris said carefully, hands still holding onto JC. “If he had a reputation as a runaway, he would be of little value here. They would sell him abroad to maximize his worth.”

Joey squeezed JC’s knee. “We’ll get to him before that happens,” he promised.

But JC shook his head. “Luis didn’t spend that much money to hunt Justin down to sell him. He wanted him back, to teach him a lesson. To prove that he couldn’t get away with escaping. They won’t send him away.”

“Then we’d better find him soon,” Chris added. “Before the crazy guy takes things too far.”

“We’ll leave at first light,” Joey promised. “I’m going to go see about getting some horses.”

**

Once they were riding again, they were able to move much more quickly. The countryside passed in a blur of brown leafless trees and yellowed grasses. JC, always one to observe the world around him, didn’t notice much at all. He thought, during one of the rare mind wanderings that he took, that he should be paying more attention so that he could write of this later. But he was too entirely focused on Justin.

They asked at every village if the bounty hunters had passed, and only made one wrong-turn over the next five days. The further south they moved, the more clusters of habitation they found, slowing their progress as they stopped and checked in each city that they were still on the right trail.

The first time JC saw a slave auction in progress, he had to dismount quickly and empty his stomach into a roadside ditch. To see men standing wearing nothing more than a loincloth- not just men, but women, and children. To JC, every man was Justin, every whip that snapped through the air was falling on the skin of his beloved. The others had to drag him away from that first auction site, for he would have bought up every man on the block that day. There would be time, they promised, for JC to help the unfortunate on the way back. But Justin needed them to move quickly.

After that, JC would stay at camp while the others questioned the auctioneers. He couldn’t bear to watch.

“Do you think we’re getting any closer?” Joey asked as they moved down the muddy road. Spring had bloomed with rains and winds to make their journey that much more difficult.

Lance, the keeper of the maps, turned in his saddle to squint through the mist. “We have to be. We’ll hit the water soon, and then have to shift to the east. But if he’s not near the water, then I can’t imagine we’ve must further to go.”

“See,” Chris said, elbowing JC in the side. “We’re gonna find him in no time.”

“Has anyone thought about what we’re going to do when we do find him, though?” Joey adjusted his hat so water wouldn’t run down his neck. His face was dark and mysterious under the brim. “We can’t just steal him away-- we’ll all be thrown to the lions.”

“We could do it,” Chris reasoned. “Justin did it once.”

“Four is harder to hide than one, though. We’d have to stay off of the roads, and if Luis was angry enough to send hunters all the way to JC’s to find Justin the first time- wouldn’t it be worse the second time?” Lance had become their voice of reason. Joey would charge into the place and demand Justin be returned. Chris would try to sneak him out under the cover of night.

“We wouldn’t make it,” JC said. “And I would buy him, but Luis would never sell if he knows who I am. And Justin would never forgive me for it.”

“Why not?” Chris asked.

“He’s proud,” JC said. “Haven’t you noticed? He’s so determined to do everything on his own. He would never be truly happy if he had to live knowing that I had to buy his freedom. He needs to earn it one his own.”

“So we have to think of something,” Joey said. It fell silent, then, but for the drizzle of rain in the river and the clop of the horses hooves in the muck. JC hoped the others were coming up with better ideas than he was.

**

On the day before equinox, they were in a crossroads city, the last one before the coast. Chris, Joey, and Lance had spread out to the auction houses in search of news while JC wandered the market in search of provisions. At sunset, all trading would stop so that the celebrations might begin.

The slaves here were favored by their owners, trusted with a bit of freedom and money to spend the long afternoons selling produce and wares on the streets of town while the masters socialized in gentlemen’s pubs or homes of the nobles. Still, it hurt JC’s heart to see the chains that kept men and women from wandering too far from their booths. JC collected some food quickly and paid in coin. The dealers eyed his foreign money for a long time before pocketing the gold and silver.

He hurried back out of the market place, nearly colliding with a young man carrying an armful of tools.

“Sorry!” JC cried, holding his sack of bread under one arm so his hands were free to help pick up the dropped bundle. The man moved as quickly as a monkey, gathering up the trowels and spades so that he could rejoin his group.

“Trace!” A girl cried, turning around half a block away. “Hurry!”

The man scurried past as JC’s mind clicked. He knew that name.

“WAIT!” he bellowed, dropping what he was carrying and running quickly after the group of slaves. Trace hesitated, the shoulder of his tunic drooping off one bony shoulder as he turned.

“Do you know Justin?” he asked breathlessly, his heart pounding like it might burst from his chest.

The boys face washed with surprise, but he had obviously been trained in keeping secrets, for it rapidly became blank once more. “That is a common name,” he said.

But he had given enough away. Justin had said that Trace was his closest friend on the manor, the boy who had been taken at the same time. “Please,” he begged. “I’m JC. You’ve got to tell him I’m here,” he begged. “Tell him I love him.”

The girl called again for Trace, and he took two steps forward, leaving JC in the middle of the market place. JC reached out, but no one took his hand. “Please,” he called again, but Trace didn’t turn around.

JC slowly gathered his own purchase and made his way back to the hotel. The sun was already dipping toward the horizon, and the others would be back soon. Then, they would scour the city by moonlight, searching the man, Trace, and find out where Justin was being kept.

Soon, he promised the setting sun. Soon he would have Justin and the world would be right again.

**

Chris was the first to burst into the room, sending the door rocking loudly back against the wall. “He trades here,” Chris whooped, falling belly-first on the bed, making the ropes creak in protest. “He has a stall, and a manor outside of town.”

“I know,” JC said, and they looked upon him with surprise. “I met someone today who knows him.” He quickly outlined the events of the day, as well as the stories Justin had told him of his friendship with the fellow slave.

”I can’t believe we’ve actually found him,” Chris marveled, picking at the lint on the blankets. “Do you realize how slim our chances actually were?”

“We haven’t found him yet,” Joey said. “But soon, I think.”

JC nodded happily into his shoulder, and soon the arms of the others were wrapped around them. They would find the manor tomorrow, and as soon as the way was safe, they would find Justin.

**

Something woke JC early, before the first light of day. He rolled away from Joey’s slumbering body, feet hitting the cold wooden floor with a shiver. Tugging on his trousers as he hopped to the door, JC was surprised at the face on the other side. Instead of Lance or Chris, it was the boy from the market.

He ushered him in quickly, latching the door behind them. From the bed, Joey sat up and tugged the covers smooth over his legs.

“I have a message,” Trace said, standing in the shadows away from the windows. JC understood that he was afraid he had been followed, and drew the shutters closed. “I couldn’t say anything in the market. Too many people around,” he said.

“I understand,” JC said gently. He stoked the fire so that Trace could warm himself, for though it was spring, the night still brought bitter cold, and the boy had little clothing on his skinny body.

“Justin said you would come,” Trace said dryly. “We didn’t believe him.”

“You’ve spoken to him?” JC asked. “How is he? Where is he? I need to see him. Take me to him,” he begged of Trace.

“I can’t,” Trace said. “I’m to be here in town all week for the festival. He’s at the manor. Luis left his nephew to govern things.” Trace’s eyes downshifted at that.

“So, that’s good right? We can just sneak in there and grab Justin, and Luis won’t even realize he’s gone.” Joey seemed cheered by the bit of news, but JC knew better.

“The nephew who…” his voice trailed off, but Trace understood.

“Yeah. Justin’s been confined to the guest quarters for the duration of the visit. You won’t be able to get to him at all.”

“Is he well?” JC asked quietly. “We heard from one of the auctioneers that the bounty hunters dealt with that he had been beaten.” His voice was shaky with fear.

“I have only seen him once,” Trace promised, “but he wasn’t too bad. Black and blue, but nothing broken.”

It was enough, JC thought. As long as Justin could walk away on his own, they would find a way to help him.

Before Trace left, they let him eat his fill and slipped him warm woolen socks to wear under his worn boots. It was all he would take, for anything else would be obvious and earn him a whipping for stealing.

“Stay safe,” JC promised. “And if I can ever do anything, you know where to find us.”

Trace nodded mutely and disappeared down the dark hall.

JC’s eyes were shining when he closed the door and turned back to Joey. “He’s here, Joey. He’s here.”

“Aww, come here,” Joey said, wrapping JC in his arms as he sobbed. “We’re gonna get him back as soon as we can,” he promised. “We’ll go out there as soon as it’s light out, and we’ll get him back.”

**

The ride to the manor was short, and JC could scarcely believe that Justin had been only an hour away from him for the past two days. It put him in lighter spirits just to know that they were walking on the same soil, breathing the same air, wishing on the same stars.

The plan they had devised would at least allow them entry into the manor. After that, it was the gluttony of the wealthy that JC was counting on to buy him time. Joey was to enter as an emissary from the Chasez vineyard, looking for the right business partner to use in expanding their trading territory into Espana. While he had the nephew distracted, Chris and Lance were to distract the house servants so that JC might reach the secluded guest wing, and Justin.

As they approached the house, JC was struck by the gaudy opulence of it all. The windows were edged in golden trim, the wooden planks on the house whitewashed garishly bright against the tranquil hills. JC almost winced as the sun bounced off the house.

“What an interesting place,” Joey commented sarcastically.

“The guy who designed this must have been blind,” Chris commented wryly, eyeing the frightening statue of a woman being eaten by a fish in the front yard. Nearby, a man with a spear was carved of marble, and pointed menacingly at the front door. Lance stayed on the far side from that statue, eyeing it fearfully as if it may come alive.

Joey knocked first, while the others waited with the horses. The man who opened the door was clearly suspicious, but after several minutes of persuasive talk and extensive gestures, Joey walked into the house and the door closed.

“Alright, now,” Lance said, and the three left the horses grazing on the lawn and raced stealthily to the back of the house. Over the garden wall and through a kitchen window they climbed, JC last in each instance in case they reached with trouble.

“Go,” Chris whispered, when they landed in the hall. JC went.

Inside the house looked as awful as it did on the exterior. The walls were painted murals of strange tableaus with the gods. If he’d had more time, JC might have stopped to try and figure out the meaning of each, though it seemed they’d been chosen at random. JC shook his head as he walked across the rough stone floors. Art should be chosen for its meaning and beauty, not just to show that one could afford to hire an artist.

The house was shaped like a “U” with the public rooms in the front and the private rooms on the back two wings. The first wing that JC tried was clearly the master’s quarters, with an unused study and lavish bath. He had to cross back down the long hallway, listening carefully for Joey’s voice as he stole behind the parlor. It sounded as though Joey had broken into the manor’s wine cellar, and was telling the young master exactly why each of his wines was inferior. JC hoped they wouldn’t have to drag his drunken body all the way back to town.

The second wing was dark and musty, and though it was often closed out from wind and sun. JC knew, instantly, that Justin was here. The door was locked, of course, but he knelt to the keyhole and peered through. He could not see much, but there was movement inside.

“Justin,” he whispered, and the movement paused. “Justin.” He said the word over and over again, until suddenly, his view was blocked. He backed up, as did Justin, and through the tiny opening, he could see.

And oh, that beautiful face was marred with black and blue, one eye swollen brutally shut. The beautifully curly hair was gone, shorn away to nothing but stubble. He looked terrible, but he looked wonderful, because he was Justin.

“JC?” he heard, and realized that Justin had been speaking the whole time that JC was staring. “JC?”

“I’m here,” JC promised, pressing his palm against the door. He couldn’t believe that they’d come this close, so quickly. “I’m here, Justin.”

“You came,” he said. “You really came.” His voice cracked, and JC knew that Justin was crying too.

“I’ll always come,” JC promised. “I’ll always come. And Joey, and Chris, and Lance came too. We’ve all come to get you. We’re gonna take you home, Justin.”

“Home,” Justin whispered reverently. “You’ve got to go, it’s too dangerous.”

“I know,” JC promised. “But we’re gonna be back, OK? We’ll be back tonight, and we’ll get you out of here. I promise.”

From beneath the door, JC watched as the little tips of Justin’s fingers reached out. He touched them, the warm rough hands of the man he loved. Justin reached out to him, and JC took his hand and held on.

Downstairs, he heard the creak of the front door opening, and knew it was time to go.

“I have to go,” he told Justin reluctantly. “But we’ll be back. Tonight, I promise, we’ll be back. Don’t give up.”

“I love you,” Justin whispered, and JC bent to kiss his fingertips, to let them curl around his lips.

“I love you too,” JC promised. “Hang on, Justin.”

He raced away without another glance, heart racing as he dove out the window into a shrub below. The branches scratched at his face and drew blood, but he didn’t feel a thing, because Justin was alive and with him again, and his heart had room for nothing else.

**

Part Three: invenio (to find)

JC’s hands wouldn’t stay still. They jumped all over the place, rattling on the table so furiously that Joey reached across and flattened JC’s palm flat. Even then, under the captive weight of Joey’s hand, JC’s fingers twitched.

“Relax,” Joey ordered, and JC huffed out a powerful breath. Relax. It wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. If even one thing went wrong-

“It’s gonna be OK,” Lance said from his place on the bed. He was cleaning his fingernails with Chris’ knife, and looked over at the men at the table as if granted divine knowledge. JC wished that he could be so sure.

The walls of their room at the inn were too tight, suddenly, and JC moved to the window, watching as the moon, a tiny sliver of silver, grew from the horizon. The gods weren’t paying much attention to the happenings on earth this evening, and JC felt that was nothing but a good sign. The fewer people watching them as they dared such a rescue, the better.

“Shouldn’t we get going?” JC asked. They’d agreed to wait until darkness would cover them in obscurity. This time, there would be no front door visitor to distract Luis’s nephew. It was dangerous, and should anything go wrong, it would mean serious trouble, even death, for all of them. JC didn’t imagine Luis to be the type who would forgive and forget.

So they waited, and the minutes were longer than any JC had ever passed. The others tried to entertain him, but JC couldn’t focus his attention. For months he had been moving through a cloud, focused only on finding Justin. Once he’d seen Justin, touched him even for the briefest moment, the fog around his mind had cleared, and everything seemed so much sharper than before. It made him nervous, antsy. It made him afraid.

When the moon had traced its way across half of the night sky and stood high peeking through meandering clouds, they left. Silently, four men rode, leading a midnight stallion behind them empty, in anticipation of the fifth that would join them soon. JC could almost see Justin there, his image a refraction of moonlight flickering only in JC’s imagination.

But soon, he told himself. Soon.

They traveled the same path as before, eerily different at night. These woods were not like those near the vineyard. They were denser, with strange sounds that spooked both horse and rider.

“Was it really this far?” Chris asked in a whisper. He was bouncing in his saddle, standing and sitting, trying to peer ahead into the darkness. They had but one torch between them.

“Just a bit further,” Lance said, the navigator of the group. He led the small band of travelers, crawling stealthily closer to their goal.

“Are you sure?” Chris’s voice was laced with skepticism. “I swear I’ve seen that tree before.”

“Trust me.”

“Why, did someone give you a divining rod to Justin or something?”

“Guys,” Joey interceded, voice harsh. “Cut it out.”

JC didn’t say a word. In the distance, he saw the glow of torches and knew that they had arrived.

They’d agreed that this time, it would be best to go directly into the western wing of the house, where Justin was being kept. They could not take a chance on wandering needlessly through the house.

The windows were higher in this part of the house, though they had the benefit of shrubbery planted along the walls. JC wrinkled his nose at the slick mold growing on the wall of the house. He despised those who spent money on gilt while the foundation fell to disrepair.

“Help me,” he beckoned to his friends, and Lance and Chris each held a foot so he could jump and reach the window sill. Thankfully, the window did not squeak noisily while he pulled open the shutters, though they were heavy and awkward. It took quick footwork from Lance and Chris to keep them all from toppling into the bushes.

With only the tiniest space to crawl through, JC hauled himself up, and prayed that Justin would be there waiting for him. He heard no sound from within, so hopefully the nephew was asleep. It occurred to him that he did not even know the name of the man enslaving Justin.

He fell to the floor hands first, slithering like a serpent into the room. They’d chosen the window wisely, for there was no furniture beneath it to crash loudly as he entered. Inside, JC let his eyes adjust to the dark. He was in a drawing room, or sitting room. The smell of whiskey stank through the stained fur rug in front of the hearth.

There were two doors, one of which JC judged to be the hallway, the other, the bed chambers. He chose that one and tiptoed carefully in its direction. There was no light beneath the door, but it swung open freely at the slightest push of his fingertips.

The room was large, with a massive bed in the middle, tables on either side, and a screen shielding one corner. Pegs lined one wall and held an assortment of vibrantly colored fabric, all appearing muted blues in the cloak of night. The floor here was a bare wood, with splinters that would harm any man foolish to wander barefooted through the chamber.

He hadn’t thought of what he’d do if Justin was in bed with the man. His stomach heaved at the thought, but he forced the bile back down his throat. Now was not the time to be emotional. There would be opportunity later to slice the man’s throat and watch the blood stain the linens if needed.

The bedroom was darker than the last, and JC blinked rapidly until he could see. There was indeed a body in the bed, but one, and JC’s heart leapt with relief. But where, then, was Justin?

“Hi,” a voice called from the corner, and JC shrieked, grabbing at his mouth and heart. His eyes darted to the bed, but the human lump there did not even stir.

In the corner, Justin sat on a worn leather chaise, smiling widely through a swollen lip. His eyes caught the scarce light in the room and glistened, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

“It’s OK,” he said. “He won’t wake up for quite a long time.” As if to demonstrate, Justin picked up a small statue from a table and tossed it at the sleeping man. It landed squarely on the man’s back, but he did not stir.

“What’s going on?” JC asked, unable to put the pieces together. This was not at all what he’d expected to find.

“I gave him something, slid it into his dinner.” Justin said this so casually, sitting still on the sofa. JC stood in the middle of the room and listened. “He didn’t even notice, stupid fuck. He’ll be out for 24 hours.”

“What was it?” JC asked. “And what if he doesn’t wake up?” Though JC wouldn’t be even remotely sad if that were the case.

Justin shrugged. “We’ll be gone. Are you just gonna stand there?” he asked, and suddenly the spell was broken, and JC was in his arms, his lips brushing carefully against Justin’s bruised ones.

“Oh, god,” JC breathed, the scent of Justin there, the feel of him, the aura of love that swam into his blood the moment their lips connected. “Justin.”

He felt a wetness on his cheek, and wasn’t sure if it was Justin’s or his own. He could have been crying, or laughing, or kissing, he couldn’t figure it out, because his brain wasn’t telling him anything except “Justin, Justin, Justin.”

“But why,” he gasped, pulling away. “Why didn’t you do this before?” He grasped onto Justin’s shoulders, not caring if he bruised the skin beneath. It was out of love that he held on so tightly.

“My ankle,” Justin said, and JC twisted around to look. Justin’s left foot was propped up on a small pillow, a swollen lump around his bone. JC’s breath hissed in between his teeth to look at it. He ventured down to touch, and Justin sucked in a sharp gasp of air at the slightest pressure. “They had me in leg irons. I think it’s broken. I knew that I could make him sleep, but I couldn’t get away on my own.”

“You knew I would come,” JC said, turning back to Justin’s face, caressing a hand across the rough stubbly cheek. Justin leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

“I hoped.”

“You knew,” JC said again, not willing to accept that Justin did not have as much faith in their love.

Justin’s eyes opened again, and though there were dark circles beneath them, they shone with life. “I knew.”

JC stood, and casting one last look at the bed, reached down to Justin. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, and Justin smiled, standing awkwardly on one foot. He moved to hobble to the door.

“No,” JC said, and slid one arm under Justin’s arm, forcing Justin’s arm around his shoulder. He bent, and swooped Justin up into his arms. He’d become a featherweight, so underfed by his owners, that JC could easily carry him. They moved gingerly though the door, carefully not to bump into the casing or jar Justin’s ankle. At the window, JC kissed Justin lightly before calling to the men below.

He lowered Justin down gingerly, knowing that his friends would take good care of him, yet unwilling to let go. Justin seemed to feel the same, trailing an arm back up to hold JC’s fingers for as long as possible. When the separated, JC felt his heart lurch, and swore in that moment that they would never be apart again.

He hopped out of the window quickly, landing with agile grace in the garden. Chris and Lance were waiting there, Justin stretched between them. There was no question that JC would take him back into his own arms, and Justin crawled into JC’s embrace like a babe, tucking his face into JC’s neck and letting out a deep shuttering breath. JC kissed the top of his head and hefted Justin’s lithe body into a better grip. They scurried away to the glen where Joey waited with the horses.

Carefully, JC lifted Justin to the saddle. In an instant, Lance had his hands on Justin’s ankle when JC met up with them, pressing gingerly around the swollen knob of bone.

“It’s been broken,” he said. “It’s healing strangely. I might have to re-break it to set it.”

Justin’s eyes flew wide in panic, and JC mounted his own horse, reaching over to stroke at Justin’s shoulder. “Are you OK to ride?” he asked, and Justin nodded. “OK. Then we’ll deal with that later. We need to get out of here.”

Quickly, the five men fell into line and slid back into the forest. The path that had seemed so long to get there felt eternal on the way back, and JC kept twisting in his saddle to make sure Justin was still behind him.

But they were out, he thought. Justin was free once again.

**

“This is going to hurt,” Lance warned. They were back at the inn, holed up in their second-story rooms as dawn broke outside. Justin lay back against a pile of pillows on the bed, changed into clean clothes and scrubbed of the worst dirt. His body was a mosaic of colored bruises, along with cuts and scrapes that made Lance hiss when he saw the bubbling, infected scabs. From his bag he pulled a bottle of alcohol and several other potions. To JC, he handed a stick.

“What’s this for?” JC asked, turning the smooth wood over in his hands.

“To bite on.” Lance took it back and placed it between Justin’s teeth. “Get behind him, and hold him down.”

Obligingly, JC crawled behind Justin and wrapped his arms around Justin’s trembling body. “Sssshhhh,” he whispered. “It’s gonna be over quickly.”

“JC, tell Justin what’s going on at the vineyard this time of year,” Lance began, turning away from them. JC stared at him strangely at the odd request.

“It’s the blossoming,” he said, crossing his arms across Justin’s chest, rubbing Justin’s arms. “The vines will all be in bloom with the most beautiful colors. Everything will smell so sweet, like nature’s perfume. The streams are running like crazy, all the melting snow in the mountains, and we usually get the mills going.” Justin’s eyes were on him, smiling at the picture JC painted with words. “People will be coming back, to start working planting in the new fields. We’re thinking of trying some new breeds, Joey heard about this villa in Tuscany that had some amazing white grapes--“

Justin’s scream pierced the room as Lance brutally yanked on his ankle. JC held fast as Justin’s body tensed in his arms, rigid with pain. “Shhh, baby,” JC whispered. “It’s over, it’s over.”

Lance patted Justin’s knee. “All set. We’ll brace it, and you’ll have to stay off it for a while, but you should be able to walk again. He took the stick from Justin’s teeth and broke it, lodging one piece on either side of Justin’s lower calf. JC rocked Justin back and forth and Lance wrapped long bandages around the broken ankle. Poor Justin, having been through so much, and now tormented by his own battered body.

Lance handed JC the bottle of alcohol and some swabs of fabric. “I’ll let you do this,” he said, leaving with a smile of support for Justin.

“Lie back,” JC ordered, slipping out from behind Justin so that he could relax flat on the bed. With his head resting on a soft down pillow, Justin’s eyes fell shut He hissed when JC swiped the wet cloth over his festering wound.

“The cure hurts more than the cut, huh?” JC moved from scratch to scratch, happy to note that none were so deep to require stitching. He couldn’t imagine how Justin’s body had become so battered- it was almost as if he had been sleeping in a bramble bush.

He wasn’t sure that he wanted to ask. The answers would only break his heart, inspire rage.

When he got to the dip of Justin’s hips, where the sheet wrapped tightly around his hips, JC paused. He just didn’t know how to go any further, and when JC lifted his eyes for a clue as to how he should precede, Justin’s eyes were still closed, his breath ruffling a feather sticky out of the pillow in gentle, even bellows.

It could wait, JC decided, setting down the bottle. Carefully he crawled up the bed and stretched out beside Justin, wrapping one arm around his waist. With Justin’s warm body beside him, JC let his own eyes fall shut, and slept, truly slept, for the first time in months.

**

They slept the day away, not stirring until the sun was once again setting beyond the shuttered windows. In the golden twilight that filtered through chinks in the wall, JC studied Justin’s face. His hair was shaved again, and JC rubbed the fuzzy stubble, craving the wild curls. He knew they would grow back, but the difference changed Justin’s entire appearance. The innocence in his face was gone with the hair.

JC traced the whirls of Justin’s ear with a gentle fingertip, again memorizing the ridges that he’d know anywhere. He blew lightly, and Justin shivered in his arms, nestling his body closer to JC’s, settling with a smile gracing his lips as he slept.

JC smiled. His let his hand wander down to Justin’s lips, the flaky chapped skin rough under his fingertips. He needed some grape seed oil, JC thought, to sooth the dry skin. He’d make it into a balm and smooth it over Justin’s rough skin.

Justin’s eyes blinked open, orbs of brilliant blue in the golden sunlight. “Hi,” he whispered, puckering lips to kiss at JC’s curious fingers. JC’s heart fluttered, and he leaned down to offer his lips for the same treatment. Justin’s mouth warmed over his wetly, gentle kisses, heating JC’s body from the inside out.

JC let his hands rest on Justin’s shoulders, careful not to touch any of the sore or sensitive places on Justin’s battered body. With light fingers he traced the protruding bones on Justin’s shoulders, anxious to get him back home and feed him warm bread dipped in seasoned oils to build up his body once again. When he pressed a thumb into the hollow of Justin’s collarbone, Justin’s head fell back and a groan escaped his lips. JC dropped his mouth to the same place and licked a line along the bone, sucking greedily at Justin’s skin. He’d been deprived of this taste too long.

“Come back,” Justin, begged when his body began to quiver uncontrollably with need beneath JC’s curious hands. He wrapped his fingers into JC’s hair and pulled him upward to kiss him again, open mouthed and slow, using his tongue to tease at JC’s lips. It was maddening, JC thought, driving him to the edge of sanity just to get more of Justin. Justin’s fingers were slowly massaging his scalp, relieving some of the tension that had built up in the back of his neck during their long quest to find Justin.

It was too much, and it was not enough, and Justin’s hands slid down under JC’s shirt, pushing the loose material up over his head, smiling widely when JC’s chin popped free.

“Hello,” Justin said with a laugh, tossing the shirt aside and pulling JC’s head down to his, kissing him quickly before pulling back to smile. “I’ve missed you,” he said, eyes dancing with roving sunlight. It reminded JC of the first time, at the cabin in the hills while the sun fell across their bed.

Even so, and as much as he had missed Justin, he just couldn’t pretend that everything was like before. There were too many worries in his head, too many horrible images racing through JC’s brain about Justin and everything that he’d been through.

“Wait,” he said, threading their fingers together, pulling their arms up over his head, bumping knuckles against the wall. He was stretched out almost on top of Justin, his left hip butting the bed. His feet dangled freely over the edge of the mattress. JC couldn’t wait to get home, where his bed was long and wide, and he and Justin could roll all over it and still have room to spare.

“No,” Justin pouted, leaning up for more kisses, nuzzling his nose against JC’s. “I want you,” he breathed. “Please JC, I need you.”

The begging words cut right to JC’s core, and it took every bit of reserve not to thrust down then, to start the relentless push towards release. He held back, though it pained him, because there were words that needed to be spoken first. He needed to know. He hoped Justin understood that, would break his usual vow of silence about what happened to him at Luis’ farm so that JC could help him to deal with it all.

“When you were there,” JC began carefully, squeezing Justin’s hands in support, “did you have to… do anything? I mean, they way you had to before?”

Justin was staring at him with wide owlish eyes, making JC acutely uncomfortable. He blushed when he asked, so nervous. Justin blinked, and it was like someone blew out a light. The glow was gone.

“It’s fine,” he said, looking away. He thrust his hips upward in clear attempt to reinvigorate the moment, but JC held firm.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush anything, and you’ve been through so much.” He kissed Justin, just before his ear, and whispered to him sweet words of love, nonsense syllables that had Justin melting in his hands.

“Please,” Justin begged, and JC could see the avoidance in his eyes, the pleading. He rested his forehead against Justin’s, their faces so close that he could feel Justin’s breath warming his cheeks.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, silently begging Justin to just tell him what to do, how to do this the right way, how to make it a memory between them and not the nameless faceless stranger who’d caused them both so much pain.

“You won’t,” Justin promised. His eyes closed, and he licked his lips with a flash of pink tongue that made JC’s lower belly jump in excitement. He knew that tongue, had felt it in his most intimate areas, knew the thrills it could create with skilled circles and darting licks. He let his arms fall away from their vice grip on Justin’s hands, framing Justin’s rough cheeks with his palms.

“Tell me to stop,” JC said, “if you’re ever thinking of that, or if it hurts.” He had no idea to what extent Justin had been expected to form a servant’s duties, but he was staying in the master’s chambers- that spoke loudly enough.

Stoically, Justin nodded, and let his own hands once again hold JC’s tightly, this time pressing them to his chest. “It was always you,” he swore, eyes swimming with unshed tears. “Every time, I just closed my eyes and pretended that it was you. I couldn’t do it any other way. You were in my heart, and I could hear you talking to me the whole time.”

JC brushed away the tears with salty kisses. “I’m never going to let anything like that happen to you again,” he promised.

Justin shook his head vehemently, eyes flying open wide at the thought. “No, JC. No. You didn’t let this happen. This is just the way things are, it’s who I am. You and me, we can’t stop the rest of the world from being what it is. We just have to keep fighting our own way through. I fought for you,” Justin said, smiling now at the thought. “I fought because I knew you were coming, and I knew that this moment would come soon.”

“I fought to find you,” JC admitted, though he wasn’t ready to stop blaming himself quite yet.

The sun had fallen away once again, and the room had plunged into total darkness. Fumbling, JC reached for the candle on the night table, but Justin stilled his hands.

“Leave it out,” he said. “I don’t need the light.” A hand grazed JC’s nipple, and he shuddered at the sensation. “I know everything about you,” Justin whispered, breath warm on JC’s cheek.

JC rolled to his side, resting one leg up on Justin’s hips, bringing their lower torsos together tightly. He pressed a palm flat against Justin’s back and pulled him as close as possible without sharing skin.

“JC,” Justin whispered, mouth finding JC’s in the pitch of night. “I love you.” JC opened his mouth to Justin’s, murmuring his own words of love as they kissed. JC’s head swam with the heat of it all. His dick was pressed against Justin’s hip, and he thrust in tandem with Justin’s slow undulations against JC’s rippling stomach.

Without a sound, JC felt himself coming, body tense from toe to teeth when the first wave hit him. Justin’s hands kept him from curling up in a ball as his body spasmed, relief pent up from long months of separation hitting him like a runaway stallion.

Just as his breathing was returning to normal, the muscles of his body loosening once again, Justin thrust against him a final time and came himself, dousing JC’s stomach with sticky wet come, gasping wetly against JC’s throat as JC rubbed his back in soothing circles. Empty, Justin finally went lax against JC’s body, a deep sigh escaping his lips.

JC eased Justin onto his back with a smile, and wet a cloth in the basin to wipe their skin clean.

“You do realize that we made it less than a day before jumping each other,” Justin said with a smile, and JC chuckled as he slid back into bed. The humor in Justin’s voice was the best sign he’d seen that everything would be all right.

“We’re lucky we made it that long.” JC wrapped his arms around Justin, now less afraid that the fragile boy would break in his hands. “I’ve really missed you.”

“Me too.” Justin coiled a strand of JC’s hair around one finger, twirling and twirling until it bounced back in curl. “Can we go home soon?”

JC had the same thought. “We can’t leave before the end of the week,” he said. “The innkeeper thinks we’re here for the festival. It would look suspicious if we left early. But then,” JC promised. ‘Then we can go home.”

Justin pouted a bit, just visible in the darkness, but he didn’t say any more. Together, they fell asleep in the tangle of blankets, content simply to have one another to hold on to in a strange bed so far from home.

**

Whenever Joey had been away, JC always spent their first few days back together peppering his friend with questions about their time apart. It was natural, he thought, that they spend their reunion time catching up on all the activities that had occurred during separation.

It was strange, therefore, to be back with Justin and not ask. Every other moment, it seemed, JC opened his mouth to ask about what Justin had done, simple curiosity about the past months. But before he could speak, he remembered that this wasn’t a routine separation like with Joey- this was a much more grave situation, one that didn’t give itself to casual conversation.

The five congregated together the next day, spilling onto the bed in a tangled bunch of limbs around Justin, who held court like a queen, smiling at the attention being lavished upon him. JC couldn’t keep his hands away from Justin’s body, always finding some way to pet or stroke, as if Justin might vanish if he were to let go.

Chris was the first to get antsy cooped up in the small room. Justin was fascinated with their stories about the month in the cave, where Chris kept threatening to eat Joey if they ran out of food. A lost buck had ensured that would not happen, but Justin’s eyes danced with laughter as Joey mimicked the chase around the tiny cave that had taken place on a cold winter’s night, seemingly so long ago. Already the warm Mediterranean breezes were chasing the chill away from the day, and the sun gods had returned to bless the countryside with more lengthy days.

“I’m going out,” Chris said. “We need some wine, or something. To celebrate. JC, you should come with me. You’ll keep me from buying piss in a bottle.”

JC shook his head. “I want to stay here,” he insisted firmly, taking Justin’s hand in his own. Justin smiled brightly at him and kissed his palm with scratchy dry lips.

“No, seriously. We won’t be gone long.” Chris tugged on JC’s shirtsleeve, pulling him off of the bed. JC toppled over the edge on teetering legs, arms grasping for Justin, who had the nerve to laugh as JC flailed and fell into Chris’ arms.

“Chris!” JC protested as he was dragged from the room. “What are you doing?” His boots were thrust into his arms, and JC hastened to put them on, hopping on one foot after Chris in the hallway. He finally caught up at the bottom of the stairs. “Seriously, what is this about?”

“Lance wanted to examine him,” Chris said, holding JC’s arm tightly so he couldn’t run away. JC glanced back up the stairs helplessly. Justin was up there and needed him. Chris was a demon, not letting him go. “He needs to do this without you there,” Chris said. “Justin doesn’t need you to fall apart on him.”

JC didn’t think Chris had a clue what Justin needed, and tried to shake him off. “I’m not going to fall apart.”

“You will,” Chris said. “Every time we mentioned the possibility that Justin was hurt, you freaked. We’re not going there again.”

“He’s OK,” JC insisted, still following Chris as they walked onto the street. “Trust me, we talked about it last night.”

“Good,” Chris said, “Then you have nothing to worry about and can help me find some wine.”

The selection was poor, due to the festival, and JC turned up his nose at the merchant’s inferior bottles, watching the cotton stuffing as it slowly leaked onto the ruddy ground. Finally, he chose a few bottles of a mediocre merlot just to keep Chris happy, and a canteen of vodka to mask the taste.

Back they trekked, through the hoards of people emerging after siesta to begin the festivities. JC watched as a familiar face was shoved through the crowds. It wasn’t usual to see slaves accompanying their masters to the events, but the iron leg chains on this one were a bit much.

“What?” Chris asked, stopping because JC had fallen so far behind.

“Nothing.”

“No, what were you looking at?” Chris took the bottles from JC’s hands and bumped shoulders. JC glanced at the ground and tried to smile.

“Nothing, really. Come on. Let’s get back.”

The familiar face blended into the crowd behind them, as the two men returned to the inn.

**

Part Four: integro (to heal)

Sometimes, when the days grew too long to be occupied by the usual activities, JC spent his extra time wondering. About why the sun sometimes hid in the clouds when they so desperately needed its shining face, or what made rivers flow down and not up. Sometimes, he tried to figure out what the point was of it all. The purpose of his life, of the lives of people in general. He’d been taught that man was created at the will of the gods, to entertain and give them some sense of purpose. He knew his life was at their whim, but he wondered despite that, if there wasn’t some greater meaning to his existence than a game piece in the universe.

“Do you think I’m here to find Justin?” JC asked Chris as they sat on the steps to the inn watching the people flutter about the market. Streets were crowded with festival goers from all over the region.

Chris shot him a strange look from the corner of his eye. “Um. Yeah.” He took a long sip of the foul wine and made a face. “Why else would we be sitting around in Espana getting drunk on crappy wine?”

JC took the bottle from him quickly, the liquid sloshing around inside. He took a quick gulp, sending the liquid directly down his throat so he didn’t need to taste its inferior flavor. “Not here, here. But here, on Earth. Like it’s my destiny.”

“I thought only Christians believed in fate and destiny.”

“I’ve always been more of a mixed breed,” JC said. His parents have given him a Christian name, after all, because they liked the stories in the Christian holy book. “It’s all the same in the end, right?”

JC passed the bottle back to Chris, who finished it in one swallow. In the street, a pig got loose, and JC laughed as two boys chased it frantically while their mother yelled in a sharp dialect.

“It’s hard to believe that kids are ever that innocent,” Chris said, as one of the boys fell face-first into the muddy road. “If I wasn’t jaded before, this trip. Seeing those auctions.”

JC swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. He couldn’t think of it without getting sick to his stomach. “I want to go home,” he said. Home, where the world was calm and safe and familiar.

Chris tipped JC’s head down to his shoulder, guiding JC’s head in the palm of his hand. JC smiled contentedly at the gesture. He was warm, and comfortable, but decidedly not Justin. “Soon,” Chris promised, and that made JC feel a little bit better.

They stayed for a long time, until the pig was caught and the crowd changed several times before giving up and going inside. Chris was tipsy on the stairs, stumbling up the wooden steps that dipped in the center with wear.

Upstairs, Joey was in one room writing in a small leather book. “My girl,” he said with a tinge of pink on his cheeks. “She asked me to tell her about what we saw. I wanted to write it down, you know. Before I forget.”

Chris teased him about the trials of true love, but it was an empty taunt with JC in the room, who had crossed mountains and risked his life for his love.

“Is Lance done?” JC asked, gnawing on his lips, nervous for Justin. He knew the kinds of exams that required privacy were never routine checks. He didn’t really think anything was wrong, but. The mind was vicious at times like these, always imaging the worst.

Joey nodded, closing the book. “For a while now. They’re in there talking.”

Chris chose that moment to fall to the bed. “You go. My walls are getting all- spinney. Around, and around, and--“

JC closed the door on them, promising to himself that he’d do something nice for Joey to make up for leaving him with the drunken music-maker. He paused in the hallway, dark wood and flickering torchlight, one hand pressed on the door. Soft voices murmured through the door.

With a breath of courage and an anxious heart at the thought of seeing Justin again, JC opened the door. It was still a shock to his system that Justin was actually there, sitting on the bed in the midst of rough cotton sheets and dark woolen blankets. He was talking seriously with Lance but when he looked up and saw JC, his face glowed.

“Hi,” JC said carefully, closing the door with a quiet ‘thud.’ “Are you guys finished or should I come back?”

Justin lifted up the corner of the blankets. “Come here,” he said, and Lance stood discretely to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” As he passed JC, he patted his shoulder gently, a reassuring touch. “Don’t worry,” he promised, sliding out the door, leaving JC and Justin in the candlelight.

“So how are you really?” JC asked. There was nothing left in him to take the time to lead up to this, so he jumped in feet first and hoped for the best.

“I’m good,” Justin said, and when JC still stared skeptically, Justin smiled. “Really. Lance was just worried about sickness or infection, you know. And it’s all perfectly fine.” He was positively beaming, and JC was stuck with how worried Justin must have been about that. He’d been so caught up in his own worries. He could see just how un-Justin-like Justin had been, how quiet. This smile, this change-- it eradicated that regression to the first Justin JC had met and brought back the man JC had grown to love over their months together.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” JC nuzzled into Justin’s neck, cozy under the warm blankets as the cool wind broke through the shutters. The candle flames dance, frolicking in the breeze. ‘You just. There’s so much, and you just keep smiling.” He wrapped his arms around Justin and held on as tightly as he could.

“I’m nothing special,” Justin promised, squiring until JC gave him room to breathe. “I just wanted to come back to you, so, you know, don’t go running away. Cause I’ll come find you.”

JC chuckled lightly, kissing Justin’s shoulder with soft lips. “That’s not gonna be a problem.”

“No?” Justin smiled at him, wide and happy.

“Nope.” JC let his fingers dance across Justin’s ribs, tickling carefully to cause only laughter, not pain. Justin curled up trying to avoid JC’s roving fingers.

“Stop!” he gasped, breathless with laughter, squirming all over the bed. His laughter was a beautiful sound, better than any music JC had ever heard. But JC only increase his speed and intensity, now tickling with purpose, kneeling over Justin’s writhing body, catching the back of a knee, the hollow under an arm, and the soft dip between ribs.

“No, stop! JC! Joshua!”

JC only laughed at his whole name, out of breath himself.

“I’ll wet the bed!”

Justin finally broke away, half rolling half falling from the bed, stumbling for the chamber pot. JC nearly winced to see the angry red slashes across Justin’s back, the worst of them hidden with medical plasters.

Adjusting his trousers, Justin turned with an impish grin that dissolved at JC’s serious look.

“What?” he asked.

JC blushed, caught staring stupidly. “Nothing.”

“No, you looked. Sad.” Justin sat precariously on the edge of the bed, as if afraid to come too near. JC didn’t know if Justin was afraid of JC or simply of himself. He reached for Justin because the distance made him so anxious his breath came short until Justin’s hand was warm in his.

With his free hand, he gestured lamely. “It’s… your back.” He hated admitting that it bothered him; it meant he was weak, not as strong as Justin.

Justin turned his head, peering over his shoulder, eyes nearly crossing with the strain. “Oh.” When he looked back to JC, his eyes were a little sad but still so beautifully blue that JC could hardly believe that so perfect a color existed. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“I know, but I’ve got, like, sympathy pains or something.” JC traced the line of Justin’s shoulders. “It hurts me to think of you hurting.” He cast his eyes downward, ashamed he couldn’t be a better man.

Justin’s hand flexed in JC’s and he shifted further onto the bed, jostling the mattress as he pulled up his legs. He scratched his head, his “thinking gesture,” before finally licking his ruddy lips and saying quietly “If you don’t think.” He paused, rephrasing. “I’d understand if it’s too much. If you don’t want me now that you’ve seen.”

JC’s heart leapt into his chest, barely contained behind his breastbone. “Justin, no.”

“It’s OK,” Justin plowed on, not looking at JC as he spoke, and JC knew that Justin’s heart just must be breaking, but he couldn’t get a word in to stop it. “I’m scarred, and broken. And I can live with it, you know. Cause I got out. But you don’t have to. I’ll understand if you want someone who’s not so ugly.

There weren’t even words for JC to use to respond to such outlandish accusations, but he had to say something, because Justin sat so still that the tears welling up in his eyes didn’t even fall. JC blinked and felt dewy drops of moisture clinging to his own lashes. There was just so much in his heart, he couldn’t process it all. “You listen to me,” he said, voice firm. “I love you. You. Not your body or your skin, but you. You’re beautiful. So beautiful.”

“Nah,” Justin said, and it broke JC’s heart that he really seemed to think it wasn’t true.

‘This,” JC promised, touching the reddish scar that ran up onto Justin’s shoulder. “It’s not ugly. It makes me sad that you had to go through this, but.” JC lowered his head and kissed the tended skin with whispering lips. “I love you more for overcoming this. I love you for fighting back and staying alive so that we can be together.”

“But you don’t have to-- to see it. To touch it. I’ll stay covered,” Justin promised.

“No.” JC’s voice was adamant and he reached for Justin, pulling him up on the bed, and then laying him out flat. JC stared at the ugly maze across Justin’s back and leaned to sprinkle gentle kisses across his back. “Don’t hide from me,” he said. Hiding led to secrets, which only led to mistrust.

“I won’t,” Justin whispered, words followed by a whimper as JC’s lips brushed his shoulder blades.

“You like that?” JC teased and did it again, letting his tongue tickle Justin’s creamy skin. JC felt Justin wriggle beneath him and he smiled against Justin’s back. “You’re so easy to please.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Justin murmured into the pillow. He raised his head and started pointedly at JC’s tented pants. JC couldn’t believe he was still wearing them.

Wriggling around, not willing to just get up and strip, JC managed to get his pants off while Justin watching with a smile at JC’s contortions. Finally free, JC tossed the balled up material at Justin, missed by a mile, and fell to the bed beside him with a happy heart.

“Do you have any stuff?” Justin asked with eyes wide. He still lay on his stomach, propped up on his arms, hands obscured from view by a pillow. JC thought he looked like a wild cat in one of the traveling wonder troupes that passed through occasionally. Sleek and poised and ready to strike at any moment. Knowing that he was the intended prey only turned JC on more.

“Stuff?” JC couldn’t keep his hands off of Justin’s arms, wrapping his hands around Justin’s biceps. The rest of his body may have gotten skinnier, but his arms were still strong. He flexed them, showing off, and JC smiled, even if he didn’t know what stuff Justin wanted. His supplies were running low, and they’d have to pick up some things before heading back north at the end of the week. But he really couldn’t figure out why Justin was thinking about horseshoes or apples at that particular moment.

Justin took JC’s hands in his and unfurled the fingers, pressing soft kisses to the tender flesh of each palm. From the spot his lips touched, JC felt shivers jump through his bloodstream, dancing all the way to his heart. His wrists tingled with energy under the pads of Justin’s thumbs.

“Stuff,” Justin said again with a gentle smile. “Oil? Lance had some earlier.”

“Oh.” Embarrassed not to have realized, JC twisted his hands so they were linked with Justin’s, fingers woven like threads on a loom. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Justin rolled his eyes, just a little, and JC knew Justin was probably sick of being asked that. Tough. JC wasn’t going to rush into anything, not wanting their lovemaking to ever be confused with anything Justin had suffered during his life of servitude. “This is enough,” JC said, rolling them a bit so his body rested completely on Justin’s, their cocks pressed together between their stomachs, Justin’s quivering with need underneath. JC’s body was on fire, and burned even warmer when Justin bucked up beneath him, his body rolling like a wave.

“Please,” Justin begged, need heavy in his voice, weighing it down like thick maple syrup. “Don’t make me beg.”

“But you look so adorable on your knees,” JC said with a smile, and Justin stared up with him with mischievous in his eyes. He wiggled his eyebrows a little, cocked his head in acquiescence to the suggestion, and JC laughed, pushing his body down into Justin, into the mattress, making Justin’s smile fade into a lost look of desire.

“No fair,” he keened, but his body wasn’t complaining at all. “Really, now. Or else it’s going to be later,” he threatened, and the thought of having to wait even minutes before release was too much for JC to bear. Lifting up, he stretched to the bedside table where Lance’s supplies were still sitting by a bowl of rapidly cooling water.

The small earthen pot he found was fired with a deep purple glaze, but JC took no time to admire its beauty, only interested in the thick clear liquid hidden inside. It was deep enough that he could dip his fingers, and when they were withdrawn, they smell fresh and sweet, dripping long strands of clear gel fluid.

Justin’s body tensed at the first touch of JC’s slick fingers, but soft kisses from JC relaxed him, and JC was able to slip one finger inside without any resistance at all. Justin’s lips were in perpetual motion under his own, tongue occasionally intervening to poke and prod and generally make JC’s head spin with its soft licks and swirls.

“More,” Justin begged, not bothering to separate their lips as he spoke, so the word wasn’t quite understandable, but the way Justin’s knee rose toward his shoulder, the insistent tug of Justin’s hands on JC’s shoulders told JC exactly what to do. He slid his hand back and forward again with two, working inside and curling, twisting, stretching, getting Justin ready. There was no resistance, no sign of trauma, and the way Justin was begging, pleading with him, JC could tell that there would never be a problem here, that no matter what may have happened to Justin’s psyche or body. This was only for them, and always would be.

“Are you ready?” JC whispered, breaking away a bit, breath coming short even though his body was barely moving at all. He was tense all over from restraint, his cock so hard that it was difficult not to just hump against the bed to find some relief. But Justin’s body was there, and ready, and JC forced himself to wait, because it would be so much better to be connected, tied to Justin in the most intimate way.

Justin nodded vigorously, lips curving up in a smile. As JC pulled away, leaning back on his heels between Justin’s legs. Justin pulled on his knees, holding them high and wide, the space between his legs glistening in the softly gleaming candlelight. JC held his breath as he reached for the oil once more, this time scooping some in the crook of his fingers, coating his cock that jumped and twitched with the first touch of slickness, heavy and red, ready for this.

Justin’s eyes remained open as JC pressed inside, slowly guiding his cock until he could take his hands away and wrap them around Justin’s. He’d thought this would be solemn or serious, so heavily perfect that both men would go through the act in awe of the greatness between them. That was how he’d imagined it all those months when he needed to focus on something to keep him going.

No, Justin was smiling up at him, eyes shining with happiness as JC pressed inside, and he felt his own mouth pulling up at the corners. Justin was beautiful, despite the marks on his body, beautiful because love poured off of him like smoke from a fire. JC inhaled it deeply, picking up Justin’s left leg to rest on his shoulder, pressing close, face only inches away from Justin’s wide, toothy grin.

“That good?” he asked, voice a surprising hoarse whisper. Justin licked his lips and nodded, a moan slipping from his lips as JC pushed in deeply, setting a rhythm that pounded to the far off rhythm of drums from the festival, keeping each movement steady and deep. Justin’s grip was a vice on his arms, his lips hot embers burning every spot they touched. Small fires were erupting all over JC’s chest, and all he wanted was more. It could never be too hot, not even when Justin’s teeth closed over one pebbly nipple and tugging hard enough to send sparks up in front of JC’s vision, making him lose the rhythm only to pick up a new one, with a hitch and a swivel that made Justin’s body leap from the bed like a man possessed as JC hit that magic place.

“More, JC. Come on, more.” Justin cried over the thud of the bed frame against the wall, a distance sound in JC’s brain. He smiled at Justin and pushed himself faster, because if Justin was capable of coherent thought he wasn’t quite there yet. JC wanted him mad with desire.

Curving his back, JC brought the mouths together and bit at Justin’s lips, nipping playfully as Justin’s body bucked up beneath him. JC’s toes were curled so tightly that he thought he might never have flat feet again, but he couldn’t unclench them, couldn’t relax, because he was so close, his legs were tingling, and his cock was just throbbing inside of Justin as the pace became frenzied, Justin’s panting breath warm and wet on JC’s already sweaty face. His hair fell down around his cheeks, shaken free from the leather chord that bound it back, and between the curtain of curls, the world was dark but for the glow of Justin’s eyes.

Justin’s hand disappeared between them, and JC felt the thump of fingers against his stomach as Justin pumped his fist on his cock. JC tried to slow down, to pull back so that they’d come together, but it was too late, because Justin kissed him again and JC came, body slowing to an ebb and flow of motion as the waves crashed through him, eventually calming so that the only pounding left was the rush of blood in JC’s ear. He opened his eyes just in time to see Justin’s eyes cross and close, feeling the hot streaks of come splashing onto his stomach. It was a treasure to watch Justin come, as his face migrated from fierce determination to surprise as he came to blissful pleasure as the orgasm worked its way through his body before finally seeping into a contented sleepy smile.

“Still want more?” JC asked teasingly, not sure what he would do if Justin said yes. He didn’t think he’d be able to move again for a year.

Justin grunted, and poked at JC’s ribs until JC rolled off of him. “Maybe later,” he said. He dragged a finger through the mess on his stomach with a grimace.

“There’s still water,” JC offered, but made no move to get it. The bed wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the one at home, but it felt like a cloud as JC sagged down into it.

Justin turned his head to look at the night table and grunted. “Later,” he said again. He reached up with one hand, and backhandedly toyed with one of JC’s loose curls. “Thank you,” he said, a ghost of a smile tiptoeing across his lips.

“Mmmm, welcome,” JC replied, bending for a kiss. Justin obliged him for a moment before drawing back, one hand low on his stomach as it rumbled lowly.

“I’m hungry,” he admitted sheepishly. It was the first time since they’d found him that JC had heard him mention food. Taking that as a good sign, JC found the strength to rise and wash and find the others to share a meal.

**

They spent the week indoors, listening to the noises of the street, playing games, and singing songs. It was a strange time, hiding upstairs, venturing out two at a time so as not to arouse suspicion with the innkeeper. It would look strange for travelers to come to the festival and not visit it.

Morning dawned with a spot of sunlight on the seventh day, and JC stretched his neck, rubbing at the tense muscles there. With a toe, he poked at Justin’s limp body. “Wake up.”

Justin’s arm poked out from under the covers, stretching long and strong. The bruises had faded to nearly invisible spots of yellow, against his golden tanned skin. JC had the indecent urge to lick the long line of muscle that tied wrist to elbow. He bent his head and tasted, falling to the bed in laughter as Justin’s head popped above the blankets in surprise.

“What day is it?” Justin asked, letting the covers slip a bit further down. JC smiled and kissed him lightly, heart full of love.

“Time to go home.” Last night, the festival had ended and throughout the village today, visitors were scurrying home. It was time for their small band to do the same.

“Really?” Justin’s eyes lit up, and he bolted from the bed with more energy that JC had seen from him in the entire week they had been back.

JC answered with a smile and a kiss that had them romping back under the sheets until a loud knock banged at the door. JC sat up again with a huff, feeling his hair bounce around him. Justin giggled and smoothed down the curls with a big, gentle hand.

Lance had examined him fully and promised that there were no lingering problems or infections, and since then, Justin’s spirits had lifted significantly. Their days locked away in the inn had been almost enjoyable, although JC longed for his home and the vineyard. He hated not being there for the first critical days of the spring season.

“Wake up!” Chris yelled. “Get off each other, get out of bed!” The knocking on the door did not cease until Justin reached to the floor and tossed a boot at the door, echoing in a resounding thud and Chris’s yelp of “Shit!” from the far side.

They began to dress, but Justin paused with one leg in his trousers. “Wait,” he said, staring at JC with intense confusion. “How am I gonna get out of here? I can’t just ride out. It’s daytime.”

JC smiled and walked Justin to the window, a difficult task since he was only half-wearing his pants. Below them was a fine coach, nearly as magnificent as the one JC owned. “We’re riding in style,” he promised, kissing Justin just under his ear. Justin smelled like oranges and sunshine, evidence from their messy late-night snack. JC licked at him until Justin was a squirming mass of giggles in his arms.

The short dash from door to coach had all of them holding their breath, but the early hour meant most people were still at home with chores. The streets were barren, and soon Justin was packed in the middle of the coach between JC and Lance. Joey and Chris opted to drive, rather than risk Justin’s safety by hiring someone else.

“Ready?” JC asked. The inside of the coach was dark with deep blue velvet on the walls. The drawn curtains kept the air stifling, and the smell of the herbs and potions stuffed into Lance’s bags gave the air a spicy tinge. Justin’s bony shoulders were warm under JC’s arm, and he cuddled closely, holding onto Justin as the coach jerked and they began to move.

“Here we go,” Justin whispered, licking his lips nervously. JC watched him, wishing that he could take some of the nerves away. This Justin was too similar to the Justin who’d rode in his coach the first time, the last time they’d snuck him into free land. They’d be taking the longer route this time, since the coach could not travel through the mountains. It would be risky, but something told JC that it would be successful. He squeezed Justin reassuringly, and laid back his head, letting the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves lull him to sleep.

**

They were not moving long, though, before the coach rolled to a stop. Joey called down for “Joshua” to emerge, and both Justin and Lance stared at JC with wide fearful eyes. Something was wrong.

“Stay here,” JC ordered, and peeled off the blanket to straighten his tunic and brush lint from his knees. The sunlight was blinding when he opened the door, nerves making his hands shake uncontrollably.

At the side of the road, Joey and Chris stood, hands on their hips, talking quietly.

“What’s going on?” JC asked. Chris gestured to the road before them, where another coach rested lopsidedly. Two poorly dressed men were knelt at the wheel, trying to fashion new spokes that would support a patched rim.

“Of all the people on all the roads,” Joey murmured. He kicked his boots against the wagon wheel, sending up small puffs of dust. How quickly the weather had turned.

“What do you mean?” JC asked, though he already knew the answer. He could feel it in his gut. He didn’t even need to see the face of the boy who popped out from under that wagon to know that it was the same boy who came to help him a week ago.

Before better judgment could seep into his brain, JC took a step forward. He needed to see, needed to look into the face of the man who’d caused Justin a lifetime of pain.

“JC.” Chris hissed, grabbing his arm tightly, holding him back. “What are you doing?”

“I need to see,” JC said, barely opening his mouth to let the words escape. “I need to see the bastard.” His eyes were trained on the coach ahead of them, rider obscured by dark drapes on the windows. Only a fool would sit in a broken wagon, JC thought vaguely.

“Well at least don’t give him your name,” Chris hissed, letting go. “I’m sure he knows exactly who’s responsible for harboring his runaway all these months.”

“Keep Justin inside,” JC murmured, fear settling in his belly as he thought about Justin being so close to his former captor. At Joey’s nod, he began walking again. He was propelled by a foreign bravery, one he didn’t recognize as his own. JC had never needed to be brave before.

The distance passed quickly and JC was knocking on the door to the wagon before he knew exactly what was going on.

“What do you want?” a voice yelled, followed by the appearance of a chubby round face with beady little eyes that could never inspire trust. Beside the man was a most unhappy looking woman, barely out of girlhood, pressed close to the far wall away from the man.

Luis. JC knew it by the look of him, not the physical appearance but the vile gleam in his eye and the sneer of his lip that only evil could replicate.

“Hello,” JC heard himself say in a voice not really his own. “you look like you could use some help.” He smiled as warmly as possible, but his hands were clenched into tight fists, fingernails biting at his palms. It took all of his self-control not to reach for the dagger in his boots and cut out the man’s heart just to see if it was indeed black.

“We’re fine,” the man answered curtly, giving no indication that he knew his life was in jeopardy from the thin man standing just outside his coach. In fact, he looked rather bored, and annoyed. JC shaded his eyes from the relentless sun with one hand, some semblance of sanity washing back over him, and he wondered what to do next.

“All right,” he said lamely, and gestured to the poor slave boys working on the wagon. “you look like you’ve got everything under control.”

Luis spared a glance for the overworked, sweating men on the ground. “Incompetence. I’m selling all of them as soon as we reached town.”

JC watched as the face of the boy by his feet, the once called Trace, contorted in fear. The same face had haunted him since appearing in his hotel room, his only link to Justin. A burst of inspiration slammed into JC, and he knew exactly what he needed to do.

“Perhaps I can help you. I’m looking for a new worker. My old hand, he’s gone lame,” JC improvised. “It would be a huge favor to me if you would let me purchase one of yours- for significant bonus, as I would get to avoid the auction. I’m sure you agree they’re just dreadful.”

Luis narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Actually, I rather enjoy them.”

You would, JC nearly sneered. He forced himself to keep smiling pleasantly.

“Alright,” Luis’ hefted his body around to stare out the window. “Which one do you want?”

JC wished he’d had enough coin for all of them, but there was only so much gold to spend. Reluctantly, he pointed to Trace, who stared at him with wondrously wide eyes.

Luis studied JC for a moment before nodding his acceptance of the bargain.

“Seven pieces,” he commanded, and JC raised an eyebrow at the price but did not argue. He would have paid twice that. “And he finishes the job.”

JC returned to his own coach and the curious eyes of Joey and Chris.

“What’s going on?” Chris asked, but JC just shook his head. He opened the door, motioned for Lance and Justin to remain quiet, before removing the money pouch and returning to Luis’ wagon quickly, before Luis had time for second thoughts about the deal.

He parted with the coin without second thought, dropping the gold bits into Luis’ sweaty palm. He motioned for Trace to follow, the clink of iron leg chains rattling noisily as they walked.

At the coach, Chris had a wide smile on his face, welcoming Trace enthusiastically. They helped him up to the driver’s seat, for it would appear suspicious should Luis be watching, if a slave rode inside. Joey joined the other three inside.

“What’s going on?” Justin demanded, while Lance remained quiet but asked with his eyes.

“Ssshhh,” JC folded a hand over Justin’s mouth. “You’ll see in a minute.” He smiled, knowing he finally had a wonderful surprise for Justin, something that would make him happy, and at the same time, change the life of a man who had helped him in his darkest hour.

**

Part Five: domus (home)

They rode for several miles before any of them dared to stop, not willing to take risks with Justin’s safety while still in slave territory. JC wondered what Trace and Chris would be talking about, curious at what the reaction would be from Justin’s friend to his new-found freedom. From what Justin had told him, Trace never had grand ambitions for a life outside of servitude the way Justin had.

“Tell me,” Justin begged, and JC pressed a finger to Justin’s lips to keep him quiet. Playfully, Justin nipped at the tender flesh of his fingertip, until JC pulled back his hand in feigned hurt. They kept up the ruse for several minutes, JC hiding his hurt finger while Justin pouted that he wasn’t allowed to kiss it better- as if JC would trust that mouth again.

When the wheels finally stopped turning beneath them, JC wrapped his hands around Justin’s eyes as the door was opened to the coach. It was tricky maneuvering them outside with Justin’s eyes still covered, but they managed without falling to the ground or jarring Justin’s still-sore ankle too badly. Justin stood, weight resting on JC’s shoulders, resigned to his fate as the victim in this grand reveal.

“Ready?” JC asked, and Justin let out an impatient groan.

“This had better be worth--“ JC removed his hand. As Justin’s eyes focused in the bright sunlight, he recognized the man in front of him.

“What are you? How did you?” Spinning awkwardly on his good foot, Justin turned from Trace to JC and back again. “You’re really here?”

Embarrassed at the attention, so used to spending his days ignored, Trace blushed furiously and stared at his feet, looking up at Justin from lowered lashes.

“He helped me find you,” JC said simply. Their three friends stood grinning like goons nearby, as if they might have orchestrated this whole glorious adventure and were now reaping its rewards. “I couldn’t leave him.”

Justin launched into Trace’s arms, dancing a funny one-legged hop around and around again, laughter flowing from both of them like school boys or brothers reunited. JC stood back, letting Justin share the moment with Trace. He could see what passed between them, the uncertainty on Trace’s face and the reassurance that Justin sent him with only a look.

They had lived a life that JC would never know, and a small part of him never wanted to know. Now, it was behind him,

“We need to get moving,” Chris said finally, breaking the spell of the moment like a pebble tossed into a still pond. JC felt the ripples of reality sinking in with each passing moment. They were not safe. “We need to get further north before nightfall.”

Back into the wagon they went, with Trace inside this time and Lance in the driver’s seat with Chris. They were off with a jolt and a laugh, rolling north once again, toward freedom.

**

They left the carriage at the edge of the valley, having sold it for a good price to a local nobleman. The mountain pass was open now, the heavy snow gone for another season. Justin trembled the first day on the trail, never able to stop looking over his shoulder. Finally, JC dismounted from his own horse and loosely tied a lead rope to its reins. He swung up behind Justin, where he could shield his love’s body from any prying eyes on the trail, and whisper words of encouragement into his ear as they rode.

It was, he thought, a peaceful time. Days were passed with exaggerated tales of greatness and songs of someone else’s victories. Chris was a never-ending supply of music and Joey knew more bawdy jokes than a court jester for the king. His bottom ached from all the riding, but it was a minor annoyance, nothing compared to the ache in his heart that had traveled with him while Justin was gone.

At night they slept in canvas tents, taking advantage of the mild spring weather to study the stars. JC loved the feel of Justin’s body reclined back against his own as the watched the heavens and the dusting of lights that shone down upon them. The gods had surely blessed them, JC thought, for things were falling into place so smoothly. They hadn’t seen one bounty hunter since leaving the valley far below.

When they reached the river, near the shack where JC first found Justin, their party split for the night. Trace, Joey, Chris, and Lance stayed at JC’s proper town home, while he and Justin rode into the woods. In the shack where they’d first met, they slept together, while JC composed sonnets and odes to Justin’s bravery on hitched breaths of love.

“What happens now?” Justin asked, as the sounds of night danced through the still air. An owl called greeting from the trees, and a rustling in the bushes answered him briskly.

“I go back to the vineyard,” JC said. “You come back with me, and you make your instruments.”

“I’ve missed that,” Justin confined, flexing his fingers, those skillful hands long under worked and abused. JC kissed the tip of each finger carefully, skin blue with night’s hazy light.

“You’ll have plenty to keep you busy,” JC promised. “And I’ll need your help, come harvest.” It was hard for him to believe it would be harvest time again in only a few short months. He’d missed the season for pruning and tending the leaves. Next year, he thought, he would give the vineyard much more time, and look into his ideas for helping the land grow and diversify.

“Will you stay with me?” Justin asked, turning his head until they could peer into each other’s eyes. “I mean, forever?”

“I can’t promise we’ll never be apart another moment,” JC said, though he wished it could be true. “That’s not realistic. You have to go to town with Chris, and I have to visit my merchants. But I can promise you that I’ll never be away from you and not miss you. I’ll never stay away longer than is necessary. And I’ll never stop loving you.”

“Me neither,” Justin swore, laying one hand over JC’s beating heart. The press of his palm warmed JC’s chest, made his heart beat faster. “Never.”

**

When they returned the world was green once again, from the long rows of vines that stretched through the vineyards to the neatly tended gardens that lined the edges of the Chasez house. JC watched with eager eyes as his home appeared on the horizon, realizing with a start how much time had passed. Already, the blossoms had fallen from the vines, making way for the fruit to follow. The aisles of the vineyard were dusted with petals, a colorful welcome for the happy group of travelers.

The front door opened, and JC saw his sister there, husband behind her, their children running into the drive, waving in welcome. There were calls of “Hello! You’re home!” and laughter all around, making JC’s head spin with happiness. He squeezed Justin’s arm in excitement, because everything was perfect. Justin smiled beside him, mouth splitting open to let a chord of laughter escape.

They tumbled off of the horses so quickly JC couldn’t tell who went first, but his sister was there, hugging him tightly, weeping because she was sure that he too had gone forever, like Tyler. JC held her in the circle of his arms and promised that would never happen. Justin grabbed them both, and Heather embraced him with a laugh, the three forming a circle, a new family.

Weary with travel, they fell onto the veranda for wine and food, a filling meal for the first time in months. JC nearly swooned with the first sip of his own wine, reaffirming that there was no sweeter taste in the world. Except Justin, that is, who was gracious with kisses throughout the happy meal.

Trace looked terribly overwhelmed at the entire ordeal, but Chris and Justin were quick to keep him included, to keep him from shrinking to the outside of the crowd. The look of shock on his face when he was pulled up to the table rather than sent to the servants quarters mimicked Justin’s own shocked expression a year ago, and JC hoped that Trace would adjust as well to a life of freedom as Justin had, though with far less trauma in the meantime. Already, Chris had offered to take Trace back to town where he could work with him, and talk of his single sisters had Trace nodding enthusiastically. JC had offered to let him stay at the vineyard, but like Justin, Trace had wanted to earn his own way through life. It seemed, JC thought, that Justin was more of a role model than he’d ever imagined.

They ate until it was dark, then lit the torches and stayed longer, though exhaustion from the road pulled at their weary bones. Justin was sagged sleepily against JC’s side long before they retired, a hint of a joyous smile painted across his lips. When the time came that the candles burned low, the merry gathering dispersed to whatever beds could be found, JC wrapping an arm under Justin’s sagging shoulders to help him up the curving stone steps to their bed, where they fell together into a deep, peaceful sleep.

When morning dawned, JC stood at the window and watched the sun wash over his vineyard, making the world glow in a warm golden light. There was work to be done, he thought, and he found he was anxious to get out there and begin digging in his garden. When the sun went down, he had a story to write. He finally had his epic tale to tell, and the rhymes itched at his fingers to be written down so that others would read it and remember his name.

Behind him, Justin stirred in the bed, and opened a sleepy eye. “Good morning,” he said, and JC smiled at the curve of white sheets draped across Justin’s smooth tanned skin. The evidence of his slavery was gone, his ankle all but healed.

"Good morning,” JC said, and knelt on the bed to kiss Justin’s lips. There were things to do, and people to see, but just then, he curled up into his love’s arms and reveled in a love that was given freely, given wholly, and would be given forever.

END


End file.
